Nowhere
by azure-tears
Summary: AU Four years have passed since Mac ignored Bloo's calls in The Sweet Stench of Success. Now, Bloo's a famous rock star, but he's still trying to reach out to his creator. Will he succeed? Can a love that strong ever truly die?
1. Going Fast

Author's Note: "The Sweet Stench of Success" is my favorite episode, right up there with the pilot. I've been preoccupied with the idea of an alternate ending and here it is. Er, enjoy…

Nowhere

Chapter One: Going Fast

"Isn't that?" a girl whispered, huddling close to her friend. The two crouched by a window display and continued their conversation behind their hands. Both giggled obnoxiously. A very cold look crossed the humanoid's face, but he shoved his hands in his overcoat and pressed his lips tightly shut as he passed.

"It _is_!" the other shrieked, snatching one of his arms and yanking. His blue eyes narrowed disdainfully, but attempting to extract himself proved hopeless. Both girls, giggling insanely, proceeded to scrutinize him delightfully. He loathed them already.

"My God, the last time I saw him as a human was when he did that Variety Hour…how long ago was that?" One mused, gnawing on her lip reflectively. Fiercely, he hoped it bled. Ever since that night, he despised all humans, despite sharing their appearance. They only pretended to like him, and then used him. Not even his creator was exempt from this rule.

"Two years," he snapped, an air of impatience apparent. Two years ago, he'd had it all. Why had he risked it for such a stupid endeavor? Why had he been so damn foolish? These were questions he'd often asked himself at night, stars shining down on a bleak scene.

Recovering his arm, he swept them away and strode purposefully down the stark lane. As usual, he hadn't the faintest clue where he was going, but every path led to the same place, right where he'd started. An insurmountable rage consumed him, briefly barricading his pointless pursuit. He had no idea whether he was furious with him for not listening or himself for taking advantages of the little things in life, like friends, family, or even a house. He had none of those now and their ache panged in the cold, ruthless evenings with only a spare blanket warming his miniscule frame.

Yet he could not bring himself to call or contact them. Thanks to a certain someone, he believed wholly if he tried, his manager would hurt each and every one of them. He'd dangled the threat over his head many a time, even after he had given up hope of seeing his creator and friends again. His career might have ended, but he doubted there was a time limit on the threat. For all he knew, they might already be dead.

Banging his head against a red brick wall (and drawing attention to himself unwittingly), Blooregard Q. Kazoo fought an onslaught of tears and whispered his creator's name.

"Mac…Mac, I'm right here, buddy…if you remember me…"

_Who am I kidding? I'm probably just a glitch in his memories by now…_

* * *

"(We ought to bring up Bloo again,)" Coco trilled, balancing a string of baubles on her beak. Wilt strung them along the walls and Eduardo, cautiously avoiding anything remotely frightening, kept jumping whenever someone bumped into him. However, since the three were used to these displays by now (as was most of Foster's), they ignored it. The task at hand demanded most of their attention, yet conversation randomly broke out. None could quite contain their excitement for the ensuing birthday party.

"No, Coco, I don't think Mac wants to talk about that," Wilt murmured, hoping the human hadn't heard the new topic. Fortunately, distracted by the lures of Frankie, he hadn't. In fact, they might have a rare five minutes to discuss it in his presence. Normally, Mac would grow exceedingly irritable whenever his name was brought up. Regardless of the theories thrown about, Mac still believed Bloo had abandoned them. He obstinately refused to talk about his imaginary friend and glared until the subject changed.

"(He's his imaginary friend!)" she insisted, tossing her head and sending plastic pink shells everywhere. A disgruntled fluffy turtle scowled, dispelling them disdainfully and stomping off. In the chaos, no one noticed. It was both a blessing and a curse, because if anyone cared to complain about the state of affairs, no one could spare five minutes to lend an ear.

"Si…and I know he misses him," Eduardo chimed in, glancing at the blushing ten year old boy, helping Frankie pin up a banner. Though a grin split his face, all three acknowledged that with a reference to Bloo, it would vanish quicker than one could blink. Not even the most elated occasion offered them a chance to speak to Mac about Bloo without the human lashing out.

"(He thinks he's dead,)" Coco replied mournfully, glancing at Mac too. The boy feigned obliviousness. Nonetheless, if Bloo's name were dropped casually, the boy would immediately fire up. Therefore, Bloo was called the "ghost" in polite company.

"But he would not be here if he had not-" Ed protested and, over his shoulder, Mac threw the trio a sharp look. Dread settled uncomfortably in the pits of their stomachs and for the next five minutes, they busied themselves. However, mentally, their thoughts carried them along familiar ventures.

Why had Bloo abruptly ceased contacting them? Moreover, why had he simply disappeared the night of the variety show? He'd vanished without a trace and none had the faintest clue where he'd gone to, but his manager indicted for fraud six months afterwards. He'd claimed Bloo had participated in a crazy stunt and killed himself (the color drained from Mac's face and he'd spurted out of the room).

When they found him later, it was in their bedroom; he was cradling Bloo's blanket to his tear streaked face. That moment on, mentioning Bloo merited a reproachful glare and a bad attitude. They'd learned to skirt the issue, but it unnerved them how far Mac would go to avoid so much as speaking his name. Far from behaving like he died, he rewrote history to act like he'd never been created. It was unhealthy, but breaking him of that impression proved extremely cumbersome.

Yet, despite Mac's bizarre reaction, they had reason to discard Kip's condescending answer. There was no record of any stunt performed by Bloo, not to mention Herriman's assurance that Mac would sense Bloo's death. Yet Mac had striven to deny his very existence, so that within itself was inviolable. Theories might be placed before him, but he denied every single one. Bloo wasn't dead because he'd never been born.

"Should we use blue streamers or pink?" Frankie inquired innocently, balancing the aforementioned on her palms. Mac paled, hands trembling. Sometimes the smallest things set him off. And she'd forgotten to call it "azure" again.

"There _is _no Bloo!" Mac hissed, glaring spitefully at Herriman, hopping swiftly to his creator's granddaughter's side. The rabbit gawked, taken aback by Mac's venom. Though it was on the tip of his tongue to reprimand him, he abstained. His creator's ninetieth birthday party was far more important.

"Mac…" Frankie began tenderly, but he waved her away angrily. In fact, he sauntered out, slamming the door on his way. Silence rang throughout the dining hall; Wilt, Coco, and Eduardo swallowed hard, tempted to follow. Unfortunately, Mac's exit indicated his solitude and they reluctantly respected that. Besides, the rest of the decorations beckoned and with an effort, they pushed Mac out of their mind.

* * *

Mac moodily marauded towards the den couch and flopped languidly atop. The remote lay prone on the mahogany table adjacent; he snatched it up and pointed at the television. Meaningless words floated past, but try as he might, he could not lose himself in their irrelevancy. His thoughts returned increasingly towards Bloo.

Was he in fact dead? Could he be alive somewhere, hoping Mac would rescue him? Had he never abandoned him? Could Wilt's warning words regarding the show have held more significance than Mac afforded them? Could Bloo have been screaming for his help and he'd just ignored him?

A nasty thought surfaced- what if Bloo had pined away for him? Though the idea was pathetic, he wondered what happened to imaginary friends who were forgotten completely. Did they fade away? Did they become suicidal? Was Kip telling the truth? Could Bloo have thrown himself away? But that didn't add up with Mac's vision of him…

"In other news today, these two teenage girls claim they saw Deo. As our audience well knows, Deo disappeared two years ago today after transforming into a human at the end of his variety hour. Rumors of his death have circulated since that day, confirmed by his manager. Then again, there _are _rare devotees claiming there's no substantial proof of Deo's death and here are two of them. We're not telling you they're crazy…you can figure that out for yourself."

Mac sprang from his seat and glanced at the screen with the most amount of interest he'd shown in anything since the day Kip had announced Bloo's death. The hands clutching the remote sweated profusely. His heart beat fiercely and he scarcely dared to breathe. Though he was furious with Bloo for abandoning everyone, he was eager for any information detailing he still lived. _Maybe Bloo just couldn't call me…for two years…_

"He looked like a homeless person…" One commented dourly, folding her arms across a t-shirt inappropriate for children. Thankfully, censors had already cottoned on and blurred its offensive comments out. If Mac weren't frantically scanning their surroundings as if expecting Bloo to pop out, he might have wondered what the expression was. The reporter seemed disgusted by it, whatever it said.

"Yeah, like, isn't Deo supposed to be rich or something? I mean, unless his manager totally took all his money…" the other muttered and wheels began to revolve in Mac's head. _Maybe his manager bankrupted him…but that wouldn't explain anything else…_

Nodding curtly, the reporter faced the camera. "That was…an extremely uninteresting factoid our viewers could have done without and a good space filler for the last thirty seconds of our show. I'm…"

Mac tuned the rest of his inane dialogue out. Thinking adroitly, he discovered no location had been cited for the two girls. They could have been anywhere in the United States, for all he knew. His heart sank- they also could have been lying. Maybe Bloo was dead and he just couldn't accept it yet.

_If Bloo's alive…give me a sign..._

Somewhere in the house, a phone rang shrilly once, twice, then stopped. Its intended recipient sat unaware his imaginary friend had just tried for the first time in a long time to hear his voice. Its recipient was also unaware Bloo pounded the payphone with his fist and kicked it before berating himself for the millionth time. Mac and Bloo were just a telephone call away from each other…but Bloo was too apprehensive to permit Mac to answer.

* * *


	2. Land

Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's, lamentably. And a side note, if I can, the titles will reflect the story title in some way. E.g., nowhere land.

Chapter Two: Land

Eyes averted, Mac hung his head dispiritingly low and maneuvered his way home through pure memory. Frankie's toast to Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster's relationship had struck still tender nerves lurking beneath the surface- he had burst out of the room and glared moodily at the wall until his treacherous thoughts sank again. Though he had stayed behind to discard of the aftermath, his heart hadn't been in it. Phrases drifted from his subconscious and assailed him when he least expected it. Forget cruel peers; at times, one's own mind could be one's worst enemy.

Dusk descended upon the sleepy suburb and the twilight stars sparkled down on the despondent boy. Though the night contained no hint of clouds, he ignored its simplistic beauty, far too befuddled with his thoughts. A dog barked in the distance, crickets chirped the temperature for the humid summer day, but as these were customary, Mac easily tuned them out. Even the occasional cooling breeze left him high and dry.

_"Never abandoned her when she needed him most…although she grew up, she never outgrew him…"_

Mac kicked a soda can out of his way stubbornly. Why did Frankie have to choose those particular words? Moreover, why had she given a speech at all? Did fate enjoy mocking him? Sometimes, he wondered if he were the brunt of a cosmic joke.

After all, he spent a majority of time at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, but his own imaginary friend had not been seen for years. Then again, when your brother was drinking at fifteen and more violent after coming home, not to mention your mother worked too many jobs to notice, you tended to avoid your house too. Foster's wasn't just another place to go, it was _home. _But the only reason he was allowed there at all was because of Bloo and heaven knew where he was now.

Folding his arms across his chest and scowling, Mac continued on his way, unaware that on the other side of town, Bloo contemplated his own fate.

* * *

Hanging out by a local bar certainly wasn't the most acceptable practice for an imaginary friend, but then again, neither was living in an alleyway. On the other side of town, where only riffraff frequented, Bloo frequently saw things he knew Frankie and the others would never want him to witness. Though he was technically younger than Mac (though his human form aged with his creator's), he was now more worldly in the dregs of humanity. Through this unique vantage point, Bloo could safely say he fairly detested most humans. They all had vices and they all exploited them here. 

A weaving, stumbling individual forced his way through the crowd and staggered home. Bloo, normally in no mood to give a damn, paused. Though it had been two years, he would recognize that ugly expression anywhere. He stood impulsively, decisively, and began to trail him. With any luck, he'd lead him to Mac.

Staggering, Terrance awkwardly meandered home at a snail's pace. Nerves constantly frayed, it took every ounce of Bloo's self restraint not to snap at him. Jeez, passing animals outstripped him. Couldn't he walk _any _faster?

When he halted to vomit, Bloo had finally had enough. Fists balled, wishing he could shove him into it, he glared. If he wandered into Mac's apartment behind Terrance, he could safely see Mac without risking him recognizing him. Then, he'd weigh his options. At least he'd be closer.

"Do you really think drinking makes you any smarter?" Bloo snapped coolly, yanking Terrance's head up and shoving him upright against a tree. Terrance blinked, staring at Bloo stupidly. He wanted to punch him, he really did. Getting out his aggressions and his frustrations would be exhilarating. Besides, he doubted Mac cared what condition his brother returned in.

"You look familiar…" Terrance slurred, leaning over again. Bloo stepped aside to avoid another splash. He'd heard that if humans didn't vomit after a binge and the poison lingered in their system, they died. Right now, he honestly thought he didn't give a damn.

"And you look like the Tooth Fairy," Bloo retorted, his mood blackening with every wasted second. _Just shut up and lead me to Mac._

"I do?"

Resisting the urge to slam his head against the tree, he snarled instead and shoved Terrance once again to his feet. The teenager protested, falling back on him. Whiskey clung heavily to his breath and his clothes smelled strongly of tobacco and marijuana. Though he disliked the scents, they didn't surprise him. Nothing surprised him anymore.

"But I don't wanna go home…" he whined, nearly falling over and cracking his head open on the pavement. Bloo snatched him around the middle and winced, wishing he'd the common sense to avoid hitting his clothing. Then again, Terrance lacked common sense, so he wasn't terribly shocked. He was just, as Bloo nicely put it, a waste of oxygen. Then again, if he hadn't been born, Mac might not have created him. In a way he'd rather not acknowledge, he owed a small debt to him.

Kicking him in the shin, Bloo half dragged, half carried him the rest of the way. On the stoop, Mac's apartment loomed, larger than before and his resolve weakened. He dared not before to approach this place, but here it was. How would Mac react when he saw him? Did he hate him? Would he scream, rant and rave?

Indecisive, he propped his pawn up and waited. In a few moments, however, his decision was made for him. Resentful because this was the fifth time in a week, he had to haul his brother up the stairs, Mac strode towards them. Bloo's fear rooted him to the spot and he stared helplessly.

"Why do you have to do this every night, Terrance?" Mac sighed, inwardly fuming. He grabbed his giggling brother but stopped dead, dropping him onto the grass median with a soft plop. Still frozen, Bloo peered into his creator's eyes and a spark of recognition shone in them. Though he hadn't created him as a human, he'd know his creation anywhere. Trepidation rocked his legs, but he continued to stand and gawk.

"No…" he breathed, halting just a few inches away. Bloo's breath caught in his throat, but he found himself compelled to gaze. Mac's chestnut eyes lured him in.

"You're…you're _alive_?" Mac murmured incredulous, touching his cheek to make sure. Bloo wished he could speak or otherwise move, but the paralysis seemed to be spreading. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Terrance crawling towards the door. He was too stunned to even scoff.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he nodded dumbly, like a marionette. Nothing drifted through his mind- like the rest, it refused to cooperate. He'd spent months planning what he was going to say and in the moment of truth, he couldn't speak. In fact, he was suddenly struck by the urge to flee.

"Bloo…" Mac whispered, reaching out to hug him. The spell shattered and, as though simply waiting for their signal, his legs propelled him far, far away. Scenery blurred past; trees, benches, the odd person arriving home became background noise. Until his legs collapsed on him, he ran.

He thought he might have heard Mac scream after him, he might have even followed, but by the time he lay, panting and exhausted on a bench, he was alone. Owls hooted above, crickets chirped around, and in the heat, shapes shimmered. If Bloo could lift his right fist, he'd punch himself soundly. He'd been so close and he'd spurted away like a coward. His legs had somehow conspired against him, he decided. They couldn't take meeting Mac again and convinced the rest of his body the best thing to do was to fling Bloo away by any means.

"Who were you running from?" a sardonic voice snickered, stepping out from the shadows. Bloo stiffened, instinctively recognizing both the voice and the person to whom it belonged. He detested himself again quite passionately. He'd run from the frying pan straight into the fire, do not pass go and collect two hundred dollars.

"You!" Bloo growled, sitting up. His eyes narrowed to slits. "You ruined my life."

"Such joy to hear my favorite star greets me with glowing tones, especially after I've finally been sprung from jail."

Kip smirked, scrutinizing every inch of his former object. Though he'd been in jail, no one knew he still owned Bloo and therefore, he could reclaim him. If he weren't desperately broke, he'd spit on him and leave. Money, however, lent him interest. His old connections hadn't all turned their backs on him- he could work with this. Reinvent it, sure, but a human sold better than a shapeless blob. Just contemplating it caused a nasty smile to split his face. Bloo cringed.

Though he'd heard (and disbelieved) rumors of Kip's imprisonment, it hardly changed his reaction. Kip was a large part of the reason he hated humanity. He'd used, abused, and threatened him until, basically, there was nothing remaining to torture. Hatred for him burned deep in his veins.

Bloo cursed him off, then shifted to coax sore muscles another jaunt wouldn't ruin them. The instant he lifted himself from the bench, Kip's eyes narrowed and he shoved him back. There was no way he was letting his meal ticket flee, not when he was _this _close. He could practically smell the crisp hundreds.

"Such vulgarity for a ten year old, a soon to be rock star." Kip's smile broadened to an increasingly ugly grin, showcasing every single tooth he possessed, and Bloo's heart abruptly dropped into his stomach. He hadn't spent months with him to ignore the telltale mechanisms churning behind it. It was the "I'm going to screw you over" look accompanied by the "eat excrement" grin.

"I don't want anything to do with you," Bloo snapped coldly, standing only to be bowled over again. He snarled, temper at the boiling point. Why had he run from Mac? Why? If only his legs hadn't gained a mind of their own, he might be sitting next to him right now and actually eating real food instead of whatever he mooched.

"Oh, I think I can change your mind."

Kip yanked Bloo to his feet and proceeded to drag him along empty roads, filthy alleyways, and disgruntled adults, putting out the garbage or fetching an item from their cars. Bloo hit, swore, and belittled him, but Kip's grin never wavered. The burning hatred faded away, replaced by chills rippling his spine. This was the path to Mac's apartment.

"Your creator lives up there, doesn't he?" He smirked, retrieving a rather helpful item in negotiations. He'd good fortune to acquire it swiftly and he sincerely doubted Bloo would be as inclined to agree without it.

Bloo stared, stunned. If he remembered Mac's address, then he probably knew his apartment number too. Following that reasoning, it followed he could and would seriously hurt him. His insides twisted and squirmed- regardless of whether he could face him, Mac's injury because of his refusal would destroy him. He might be selfish, egotistical, and a jerk at times, but he loved his creator.

Kip, of course, was banking on this. He flicked his gun upwards, at their window, and then back, chest level with Bloo. Bloo retreated, but his eyes lingered on Kip's armed hands. Despite every cell in his body detesting the human before him, he had no choice.

"What do you want?"

* * *

Two more years passed, but Kip made due on his promise/threat. Bloo was indeed reborn as the most miserable rock star in its history. Desperate and desolate, he penned frantic pleas to Mac in his songs in the hopes he might turn on a radio and listen.

* * *

**I'd like to thank everyone (MisterBlue, a.k.a. Blue, kcbs, lucyrocks73, Rakal, and A. Nonymous) for reviewing. That's it for now…so please read and review again, okay?**

**Until we meet again…**


	3. In the Middle of

Disclaimer: Y'all know I don't own it by now, so yeah…

Chapter Three: In the Middle (of)

**(Exactly two years later, in front of a crowded television store)**

He was popular again and everyone knew it. Teenagers and preteens alike raced to buy his albums, posters, or memorabilia. R.D. was the name on everyone's lips and if you didn't know of him, you knew nothing. He wrote his own music, supposedly deep, soulful lyrics that grabbed you by the heart and squeezed for dear life. Many called him the virtuoso of pop music, regardless of his reported age. His blue spiked hair, pale features, and single earring set girls' lungs afire. They simply couldn't get enough of him.

Mac craned his neck and strained to see him, though why his passing interest continued he hadn't the faintest clue. Perhaps it revolved around their last meeting- he'd searched for him for hours afterwards and came up empty. Fear had shone brightly in his imaginary friend's eyes and it haunted him afterwards. Why would he be afraid of him? Why had he run in the first place? What had he to be afraid of?

Yet his lyrics told a different tale. Mac, who seldom lingered long enough to listen, often heard repetition in his middle school via fangirls. Since he normally paid them no mind, he tended to overlook the dark, disturbing words etched within the innocuous verse. None were shrewd enough to dissect his hidden meanings and, if they were, they threw it aside. Pop music disconnected the brain and thus, desperate pleas for attention.

Well, if he wanted attention, he'd certainly picked the right profession. Thousands of people hung on his every word, usually spoken slowly and through a visible air of fatigue. The idiots considered it part of his show and never thought he might actually be exhausted. And any who did and reported it mysteriously disappeared. Kip simply dispelled of bad press like one would a discarded tissue.

_But why should I care? He abandoned me again, just when we were about to connect. He stopped caring about me four years ago- he said it himself. "Who cares about Mac!" Fine, Bloo, if you don't care about me, then I guess you can rot in your dreams._

Yet no matter how many times he repeated this refrain, his eyes drifted to pictures plastered on magazine covers and newspapers. Behind sunglasses, deadened blue eyes lurked. Only a year and a half on top and he already looked like he'd sold his soul to the devil. Nothing flickered in his gaze, no sign of happiness or depression. Mac occasionally thought Bloo was a dead horse, beat until the corpse vaguely resembled its vessel.

"Mac…"

Mac whirled around, frowning. This had been happening all too often as of late. Whenever he halted to watch Bloo's insipid talk shows or interviews, he swore he heard him whispering his name. Then again, he also thought he heard him begging for forgiveness in snippets of songs. More than likely, he imagined the whole thing; he'd been fixated on the motive behind Bloo's fleeing him. Therefore, he pretended he hadn't left him at all and was doing this unwillingly. It made perfect sense to Mac, though he never spoke his theories to Frankie. He held the personal opinion they only made sense in his head.

"Mac, please listen…"

Growling softly, frustrated with his overactive imagination, he sped swiftly away and shoved Bloo out of his mind. He'd dug his own grave and Mac would be damned if he was going to help him out now. Bloo could rot in the confines of a cage, for all he cared. If he didn't care about him, then why should he extend that back? He didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry…"

* * *

"You know," Kip snarled, fists clenched, "It's a good thing you're popular. Otherwise, you'd pay for muttering your creator's name on live television."

Bloo, sullen, said nothing. Instead, he shifted position on the extended window ledge and observed the California sunset. Beautiful oranges, purples, reds, and yellows culminated in a sight most would pay to see. Bloo, however, glanced only because it was not Kip and anything not his producer generally eased his eyes. He rested his clammy forehead against the cool glass and sighed, wishing he were anywhere and anyone else.

"_Listen _to me, you ungrateful whelp," he hissed, grabbing Bloo's shoulders and shoving his face in his hostage's. Bloo swallowed the large ball of spit he longed to hurl in his face. Though apathy rarely resulted in threats, outward defiance did. The last thing he wanted was Kip to hurt or kill Mac thanks to his own stupid reactions.

_Why should I? I hate you and we both know it. The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are- I'll leave Mac alone and you can go **home**. Since hell will freeze over before you say either, I'll just tune you out. _

"Sooner or later, people are going to catch onto your little game. I'm sick your insertions about forgiveness and desperation in normal hit songs. I'm sick of your reaching out to your _stupid _creator however you can. He-"

Despite himself, fury rearing its ugly head and sending blazing sparks flying from his eyes, Bloo retorted, "Mac isn't stupid. He'll figure out what's going on and come rescue me."

Kip laughed mockingly, slapping him across the face. On Bloo's exceedingly pale visage, red marks stood out strongly. Yet he offered no defense or counterattack. The instant he touched him, Kip would summon his aides, assistants, and fellow jerks to beat him to a bloody pulp. His brilliant make up artists would hide the bruises, black eyes, and swollen lips. They'd done it before.

"And if he does, I'll kill him. We've been over this before, _Deo_." He smirked broadly, showing all his yellow teeth. Rage swirled his innards and gritted his teeth. How satisfying it would be to beat _him _to a bloody pulp, to put him through every maltreatment he'd suffered. Then he'd see who was boss. Then he'd bow to him…and let him seek out Mac again.

"_You can't stop me_."

Chuckling derisively, he shoved Bloo at the window and left him to his own dark, brooding thoughts, mostly involving torturing his producer and hearing him scream. Underneath his fury, though, he fretted. Why hadn't Mac noticed anything yet? Had he really abandoned him? His stomach clenched and, for the first time, Bloo was grateful he hadn't eaten anything in the past three days.

* * *

"(He's staring at the wall again)," Coco noted, nudging Wilt with her beak. Mac routinely arrived at Foster's at three o'clock, but now spent most of his time staring off into space. When someone approached him, he'd mutter monosyllabically and whisper his imaginary friend's name. Frankie, Coco, Wilt, Eduardo, and Madame Foster were quite worried about him, but at the moment anyone ventured the topic of Bloo, he'd return to normal. No one was convinced, though- they believed his usual disposition was an act and he really did stare off into space unobserved.

"Yeah, I know… but he won't talk to any of us today."

Wilt shrugged apologetically, sitting gracefully down on the den couch. Another of R.D.'s specials was airing soon and, regardless of Mac's unnerving reactions, they liked catching glimpses of their former friend. Most imaginary friends found it somewhat exciting that someone from this house had aspired to such great heights. Only Mr. Herriman tutted about it, calling his profession a "waste of time" and anyone obsessing over him "weak minded".

"Si, but he has to talk sometime." Ed agreed, motioning to the scrawny preteen to join them. Mac gazed right through his proffered paw and in unison, the three imaginary friends sighed in exasperation. Maybe seeing R.D./Bloo would cheer him up. In the very least, it might get him off the floor.

Frankie, at the doorway's edge, paused. Though she openly abstained from cheering Bloo on in front of his morose creator, she enjoyed watching his performances as well. However, with Mac dazed again, she wondered whether that was such a great idea. He really did worry her- she hadn't seen him smile in months.

"Mac, bud, are you okay?" she murmured, striding over to him. If he heard her, he gave no indication. Instead, he glanced stoically at the marble floor. She sighed, reluctantly lifting him and situating him on the couch beside her. He blushed slightly.

"Mac no speak today," Ed murmured sadly, affectionately patting his head.

"I don't think he's spoken all week," Wilt said, frowning. "He just shows up, stares at the ceiling for a few hours, and then leaves."

"(And when anyone mentions Bloo, he jumps a foot in the air)," Coco added, sitting beside Ed and folding her wings so the side of the couch wouldn't crush them. As if to prove her point, Mac started slightly, opening his mouth and gawking at the blank television set (none had switched it on yet).

Frankie sighed, wrapping an arm around Mac's shoulders. "Wanna tell us what's going on in that head of yours?"

Fortunately for him, Coco pressed the on button on the remote and he was spared a response. Frankie bit her lip, wondering just how she could lure Mac into a conversation. If what they said was true, then she might have more luck luring Terrance to adopt an imaginary friend. The thought induced a shudder- she knew Terrance by reputation and what she knew, she disliked.

"On 'Inside the Rockstar', we take you to R.D.'s dressing room and an _exclusive _interview with his producer, Kip. All this and more when 'Inside the Rockstar' returns after these commercial messages."

"R.D.'s producer? Why not _R.D._?" Mac snapped, causing all four to turn. "He's the star, isn't he? Why don't they ever give interviews with him by himself? Why don't they ever show him without sunglasses or tinted contacts? Why is everything filtered through _Kip_?"

Stunned, they merely shook their heads, but Frankie, frowning, glanced at Mac thoughtfully. She glanced back at the glaring TV set before responding. "All his songs are about losing someone and missing them terribly…"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's just a show biz thing, Mac."

"No," he said, uncharacteristically cold, "I don't think it is."

* * *

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed (I find myself once again speechless for responses)- MisterBlue (Blue!), Rakal, Mr. Baka, Trixie21, A. Nonymous, and kcbs and hope you keep doing so. **

**To others who have kept mum, please read and review. **

**Until we meet again…**


	4. So You Wanna be a Rock Star?

Disclaimer: Foster's is not mine, but the plot and "Teenage Suicide" _are_. Not that you'd want either…

On a side note, Unwritten Law has a song named "Teenage Suicide", but I'm not quoting them. One _more_ thing- Z100 is a real radio station transmitting from the Empire State Building in NY. It happens to be my favorite Top 40 station.

Chapter Four: So You Wanna be a Rock Star?

"R.D.!" a group of rancorous fans screeched, thereby destroying the lower rungs of his hearing. Fortunately, Kip had actually invested in a worthwhile enterprise and purchased earplugs, protecting what remained of his hearing. Apparently, since his fans already terminated their hearing on a regular basis with his music, they showed the same concern for his own ears. Before now he hadn't known preteen girls could shriek quite so painfully.

Smiling benignly, inwardly cursing his producer, R.D. called back to a few. Everything he did was part of the act, the excruciating role of the rock star. If he pretended that eventually the lights would dim and he'd be able to leave, he might make it through. The thought of spending the rest of his life apart from his precious Mac and Foster's was simply unbearable. He _had _to listen, he just had to. A sizeable lump formed in his throat and wouldn't go away.

Today he donned an orange streak in his spiked blue hair, his customary hoop earring and filtered plastic sunglasses, an open blue vest showing his prepubescent chest, and uncomfortably tight black pants. Kip, no doubt because he was immune to stupid wardrobes, dictated he wore slacks displaying himself prominently, regardless of wedgies and chafing. It was part of the "appearance", Kip replied with a smirk when fitting him. When he'd retorted only morons wore pants two sizes too small, he casually pointed to a picture of Mac and cocked his fingers like a gun. That normally shut him up very quickly indeed.

"We love you!"

"I love you too," R.D. replied, meaning none of it. His stomach grumbled, his body ached from sleep deprivation, and he hadn't anything to drink in a good half day. It was only Kip, prodding him in the back, forcing him to complete the façade. Otherwise, he'd run away from everything, so far they'd never find him again. Back to Foster's…back to Mac…

Stepping out from behind him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Kip draped an arm around his young star. He gripped his shoulder tightly, but R.D. said nothing. The pounding hatred in his leaden head spoke volumes. He wanted to snap every bone in his stupid, leering body. First, though, he'd start with breaking those glinting teeth.

"Be sure to buy R.D.'s new album, 'Unrequited (Missing You)', in stores August 23rd and his hit single, 'Teenage Suicide', coming soon," Kip plugged, smiling insidiously. Fuming, R.D. imagined smashing every single damn tooth in his rotten mouth. He wasn't surprised that a great deal of his thoughts involved violence. Apathy towards the masses and deep seated loathing invoked violent pondering. He smirked, picturing Mac's reaction if he found out.

The smirk faded quickly, however. He hadn't seen him for four years and though he created him, his memories grew foggy with time. Months ago, he recalled Mac clearly, especially the awestruck look when Bloo ran for the hills. That was the night he considered his true self dead and his false self, constructed through lies, fabrications, and illusions, was born. He didn't refer to himself in thoughts as Bloo if he could help it.

Kip's smile drove him up the wall in more ways than one. It said clearly, "I am the master of your domain and I _own _you." R.D. inwardly seethed, past the point of argument. He _did _own him, at least, the part named R.D. (Real Deo). The part smothered, Bloo, rebelled unconsciously. It berated him tirelessly about self defeat and an overwhelming desire to see Mac (it also slipped in pleas). Kip didn't own Bloo, but in R.D.'s slump, it mattered little. He owned the part of him concerned for his creator's safety.

A collective gasp yanked him from his thoughts- they were probably wondering about the title of his hit. R.D. smirked. Kip suffered him through nearly everything, but his lyrics and album titles were never debated. He hadn't simply cowed to him, either. On his live performance on Z100 (New York's Number One Hit Music Station), Kip had subtly altered the words to his first hit. Bloo (since he had still referred to himself as Blooregard at that point), enraged, sang the original to loud applause. Since it was _his _version topping the charts (and selling more copies), Kip's greed led him to overlook the glaring pleas to Mac. Relieved, Bloo continued to reach out to his creator via song.

"Teenage Suicide" had induced the rare disagreement over lyrics. Disregarding his mental state when he penned it, Kip instead insisted his fans would follow suit and commit some sort of cult suicide. The thought amused R.D. darkly (a lost fan base meant no popularity which meant Kip wouldn't care about him or Mac). Once again, however, his audience won out. The incredibly angsty, haunting song about losing everything and desiring death, actually made some people shiver. Though they usually wrote it off as a disturbing pop song, there were others who thought perhaps R.D. seriously contemplated taking his own life. They kept silent, but became worried.

Bloo, after four years, was starting to lose his supposedly unshaken faith in his creator, and he wanted the world to feel it.

* * *

Mac arrived at Foster's minutes following Frankie's phone call. Despite the ardent argument erupting, he reluctantly abandoned his homework on the living room table and darted outside, stopping only to scribble a note to his mother. He passed Terrance on the street but ignored his remark about a secret rendezvous. Frankie's words had shaken him to the core; he ran willy-nilly along, narrowly avoiding adults and the occasional dog. The words "Teenage Suicide" and Bloo rang through his head. 

Panting, bent over double, Mac fell into Frankie's arms when she opened the door. She smiled softly and carried him into the den much like a mother would. There, Eduardo, Wilt, and Coco gathered around her new laptop and cautiously peered at it. Guessing from Ed's intimidation, she'd probably told him it would explode if he touched it wrongly. Frankie's fanaticism about her electronics had not faded in time.

Placing him down tenderly, she scanned the room and hoped Herriman would not hop in. Herriman despised all of R.D.'s songs and ranted if anyone played them outside of headphones. If he popped in now, the results would be disastrous. Mac, under normal circumstances, never sat to listen to a single one of his imaginary friend's songs. He'd only shown up today after she snapped that he'd be heartless if he didn't.

Even so, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He really wasn't in the mood for another stupid love song. What could be so important for her to demand he come and listen? Was Bloo singing about how he abandoned everyone he cared about? Or how shallow he was?

Deep down, he'd begun to question this. Every time he saw an ad for an interview or exclusive with R.D., Kip's name inevitably followed. In pictures from People and US, R.D. was flanked by at least two guards and usually Kip as well. Reports of him stumbling and nearly passing out at a recent appearance flashed insanely for a half hour then were shut up unnaturally fast. It seemed anyone commenting on R.D.'s physical state found themselves silenced adroitly. No records of him collapsing made it to print.

Frankie gently squeezed Mac's shoulder comfortingly and pressed play on her computer. Eduardo, not expecting a song to suddenly start, jumped. Wilt eased him back onto the couch, where Coco squawked disapprovingly. Mac ignored all three of them.

"Wanna take a ride…

Teenage suicide…

"I used to think life was worth living

Until I started taking more than I was giving

People I loved left me empty and cold

Nightmares made me old

"The person I loved above everyone

Gave up on me before the day begun

Wherever he is, he left me high and dry

I can feel my soul starting to die

(Chorus- 2X)

"Everything I say I've said before

Life has no significance anymore

I just want sweet surrender and peace

I want my life to cease

"I've been used and abused

My only wish refused

Just let me escape any way I can

This world is more than I can stand

"I'm sorry to care

Love has left me bare

I don't want sympathy or pity

Just let me sing this last ditty

(Chorus- 2X, fade to end)."

Mac stared blankly for about five minutes, the last whispered line escaping his notice. Frankie, brushing her face with her hand hurriedly, gazed meaningfully at Mac before rewinding the song a few seconds before the end. She'd heard it the first time on the radio and it bothered her. Idly, she flicked a finger towards the volume and hit play again.

"I'm so sorry, Mac…." Bloo whispered.

Silence hung heavy in the room. Wilt, Eduardo, Coco, and Frankie all stared meaningfully at Mac, burying his face in his hands. He wasn't crying, but there was a lump in his throat he couldn't quite rid himself of. Finally, straining, he raised his head slightly and saw his expression in varying severity mirrored on their faces. Frankie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder again and he swallowed hard, trying to calm himself long enough to speak.

"Do you think he's…serious?" he asked finally, knowing the answer before he inquired. He just didn't want to think about it. Wilt placed his hand on Mac's other shoulder, Coco trilled sympathetically, and Ed blew his nose noisily. Frankie squeezed his shoulder again and responded.

"I…I do, Mac," Frankie said solemnly. "But that isn't the question now."

"How long has he been trying to reach me through song?" he burst out before he could stop himself. "How long has he been singing songs like that?"

"All of his songs have him whispering apologies to you, Mac," Wilt replied, frowning. "That's why we've been trying to get you to listen."

"Si, but we thought you no care enough to hear," Eduardo added, sniffling.

"(For a smart boy, sometimes you're remarkably stupid)," Coco finished, causing Wilt to scold her. Ashamed, flushed, Mac turned to Frankie again.

"This is the first time he's sung about killing himself, but we've been worried for months. Madame Foster's convinced his collapsing, hushed messages, and other actions are tied to your withdrawals. Bloo needs you, Mac, but he's starting to lose hope. If this song suggests what we think, he might end it before you can reach him."

Panic stricken, Mac suddenly remembered "Help me, help me, Mac" during Deo's Variety Hour. He'd scoffed, sauntering out of the room, but Bloo's pleas had haunted his nightmares. For weeks afterwards, he'd told himself he was imagining his pain and suffering. It felt like someone had dropped an anvil on his head.

"There has to be something I can do about it!" he protested, queasy. To his surprise, Frankie nodded grimly.

"There is…but you're going to need my help."

Producing a small clipping from her pocketbook, she showed him a contest entry. "Are you R.D.'s ultimate fan?", the paper read. "Prove your knowledge in a hundred word essay and if we chose your essay, you'll win a day with the star himself. Must be fourteen or younger to enter…"

Mac sighed. If he had to enter a teen magazine's contest to see his friend again, so be it. It was time to submerse himself in the obsession that was R.D.

* * *

**I had to up the rating because of "Teenage Suicide" and the theory Bloo might actually consider that an option. **

**And I'm not in the mood to reply to reviewers, but please keep reading and reviewing! Thanks. **

**Until we meet again…**


	5. Half the Battle

Disclaimer: I don't own it, lamentably.

Chapter Five: Half the Battle

For the next few weeks, Mac waited agitatedly by the mail box. Frankie had given him a crash course in R.D.'s exploits in the past and the internet filled him in on the rest. His essay, heartfelt but far less banal than the other fangirls, he'd spent a day agonizing over. Even Mr. Herriman, usually a stickler for hard work and extreme effort, thought he might be taking things a bit too far. It was just a "trite essay for an undeserving fanbase". Fortunately, he hadn't time to add anything else, because Mac, disgruntled, had wadded a discarded draft at his bowler hat. Declaring him a "hooligan", the imaginary rabbit had hopped out swiftly.

Now his attempts might have been for naught. Today was the deadline for notification and, standing on his toes to watch the mailman, he didn't see anything in his arms that looked remotely like an announcement. Of course, he had no idea what such an envelope might look like, but that didn't stop him from stamping his foot impatiently. He and Frankie hadn't quite constructed a plan if he _didn't _win and what they had was weak at best. Their last brain session culminated with Frankie sighing and telling him he'd better win that damn contest because otherwise they had no idea what they were up against. Only Bloo and Kip knew what was going on and without the contest, they couldn't plan accordingly.

At long last, the smirking postman delivered. Every girl on the block enamored with R.D. had the same thin manila envelope. Mac's, however, was thicker than normal. The postman winked, still smirking, and walked away. He found this whole R.D. business rather amusing- even his own daughter was practically in love with him. Teenage girls and their pop idols.

Mac eagerly shred the envelope (and safely situated the rest of the mail on the sidewalk). Skimming the contents, he reached the end and grinned like the Cheshire cat. There, tucked within an official notice, was the "golden" ticket. A pass for him (and him alone, for some bizarre reason) to visit R.D. in California, plus a VIP card to get into everywhere else for the day. He snatched both, raised his fists over his head, and pumped them in victory. He was going to see Bloo!

* * *

Kip furiously answered the phone and turned on his hostage/rock star. R.D.'s eyes tracked him around the room while he paced. When Kip said nothing and randomly lashed out, that was when he was at his most dangerous. He waited on pins and needles, wondering what he was in for now. He couldn't remember doing anything rebellious lately, other than the usual. 

"Fine," his producer growled, eyes narrowed to slits. "I'll let the disgusting little boy tour with us for a day. But if he does anything, anything at all, I'll have your heads."

Interest piqued, R.D. leaned forward on his chair and listened. He preferred threats directed at other people infinitely. But someone on tour with them, even for a day? It sounded too good to be true. And, in R.D.'s experience, anything too good to be true usually was.

"His name is _what_?" he snarled, glaring at R.D. Uncomfortable, he squirmed in his chair. The voice he normally silenced squeaked in renewed hope. _Mac's coming? Tell me he's coming! Mac!_

"How the hell did a twelve year old _boy _win your contest, anyway?" he snapped suspiciously.

_Twelve? Mac's twelve_! Bloo thought, azure eyes wide. _Is it Mac? Is it?_

"That was a rhetorical question!"

Bloo bounced happily in his chair and an ecstatic grin split his face. What an amazing thing hope was. It filled him to the brim and lent him enthusiasm he hadn't felt in years. The mere thought of seeing Mac again was ineffable.

"_Fine_. But I warn you, if that little brat gets under my feet or tries to lure my client away from his forced career, I mean, his life dream, I'll kill him. And if you don't think I'm serious, you've got another thing coming."

Slamming the receiver down so hard it cracked, Kip spun on Bloo. Bloo grinned back, springing from his chair to bounce on the balls of his feet. Kip stared momentarily, distracted by his grin. Bloo hadn't grinned like that in ages, especially not at him. He almost forgot what he was going to say.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked at last, stunned. "I didn't say you can leave."

"Mac's coming, isn't he? He won that contest, didn't he? That's why you're pissed, isn't it? You don't want him to come! You didn't think he would! But he did…or he is! I knew he wouldn't give up on me!" Bloo cried, hopping up and down. Kip watched distastefully, scowling at his charge.

"You're goddamn lucky that this brings us and by us, I mean _me _more publicity."

Growling at him like he'd planned this, Kip, fuming, strode out. Bloo stared after him for a few moments, too excited to speak. When he did, he screamed, pumping his fists in the air much like his creator had a half hour ago.

"YES!"

* * *

Three weeks later, fingers drummed impatiently against the arm of his coach seat. Terrance had pestered him endlessly, up until their mother left him at the gate. He managed to insult him any way he could, including insinuating R.D. was actually Mac's secret lover. Fortunately, Mac's mother had decided to silence him at that instant, saving Mac the necessity of hissing an insult back. He knew far too many of Terrance's little dark secrets. 

Girls on the plane shrieked nonstop about R.D. behind him (he ignored them the best he could). Instead, his thoughts were worry lined, wondering how long Bloo would hold on sans him. Was he seriously considering what he wrote in "Teenage Suicide"? Was he giving up on him?

His stomach lurched when the plane hit turbulence and he found he couldn't even eat the customary bag of peanuts. Just the thought made him queasy. Four years of pretending Bloo didn't exist and all the anxiety bundled up inside. He wondered if it was confinement or his throat closing up giving his chest its constriction. What kind of trouble had Bloo landed himself into, if he couldn't outwit his way out? The thought troubled him for the rest of the flight.

One of Kip's representatives awaited him at the California gate and eyed him warily. Though he hadn't honestly expected Bloo to be there, part of him had anticipated it. Bloo would be waiting at the gates and he'd tackle him to the ground in a fierce hug that seized the air from Mac's lungs. He'd tell him he wasn't serious about anything, especially "Teenage Suicide", and he would gladly go home with him. Then, after Mac scolded him, he'd hang his head and gladly accompany him back to Foster's.

"Where's Bl-, I mean, R.D.?" Mac asked, glancing around as if he might pop out abruptly. The assistant merely shook his head and led Mac to the awaiting taxi cab. Whoever financed this trip had literally spared no expense. Sitting by the sidewalk, the cab looked especially woebegone beside expensive new cars and limos. Its many chips, scratches, and bird droppings told Mac the caretaker of this vehicle clearly couldn't care less. Luckily, the vehicle operated better than it appeared.

No one answered a single question, so he leaned back and waited, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Though it irritated many people and imaginary friends alike, it was a nervous habit he couldn't kick. The movement eased him slightly, particularly now that they neared R.D.'s studio. He swallowed hard, pensive on his possible findings. There hadn't been any recent pictures of Bloo/R.D. and, as Frankie told him, Kip probably had a good reason for keeping him out the limelight. Mac was going to discover just what was going on here, even if it killed him.

They pulled up; the assistant and driver haggled, since the assistant apparently hadn't been paid to give him any sort of tip. Curses flew like good wine and Mac stealthily crept away to locate R.D.'s dressing room. Through myriads of avenues, haphazard trailers, and occasional scalpers, he managed to locate it, far in the back. In fact, if he hadn't been as nimble, he might have found himself mauled by the half dozen fans doing the same thing. Fangirls really did scare the hell out of him sometimes.

"Bloo?" Mac murmured, pounding the door. No one answered and his heart sank a little. What if Bloo wasn't in there but Kip? What if he'd spent the last hour questing in vain? Then he'd have to spend another hour, maybe two, finding his imaginary friend in this labyrinth.

"Bloo!" he thundered, trouncing the steel door so hard, his fist was going to feel it for weeks afterwards. However, before he raised his hand to hammer again, it creaked cautiously open and a pair of faded azure eyes gave him the once over. A margin of Bloo's humor and liveliness flickered in his eyes and he offered his creator a weak smile. Mac stared, taken aback. How could this morose individual be his imaginary friend? The words to "Teenage Suicide" swirled through his mind and he sighed, connecting them reluctantly with the rock star. When he saw him up close, they fit entirely too well.

"It's been a while since anyone's called me that," R.D. murmured, lowering his gaze. Heat flushed his cheeks, lending them a more sentient appearance. He looked emaciated, a daytime vampire. Mac continued to stare, disturbed by his friend's condition. He had to yank him in, meanwhile scanning the perimeter for Kip.

His dressing room was sparser, too, than what he'd seen of others. Only a bean bag chair, a broken mirror, and a cot adorned the room. Sticking out from under a beaten pillow was, upon closer inspection, a four year old picture of Mac. Mac glanced at it, then at R.D., flinging himself on the deteriorating bean bag chair. The diminutive star offered no explanations, merely gawked at him. More thoughts raced through his mind than he felt safe to express.

"Bloo, what the hell is going on here? Your stuff looks like it came from a garage sale, _you _don't look like you've eaten in days, and you haven't actually talked to me in four years. In fact, the last time we came face to face, you ran away.

"Are you too important to talk to me? Am I just one of the little people you stepped on? If that's true, then why are you constantly apologizing to me in your albums? Why are you-"

Bloo rose, striding across the small expanse to peer down at his creator. His eyes narrowed to slits and he resembled his producer. Mac, having no idea what this signified, opened his mouth to add more fuel to the fire. All _he _knew was four years ago, Bloo had dumped him. And now that he was here, face to face again, he wanted answers.

"You wanna know why I haven't talked to you, Mac?" Bloo snapped, his nose mere inches away from Mac's. "You wanna know why I ran away? And all that other crap?

"I'll tell you! Kip, my evil producer, threatened to hurt you when I was Deo, four years ago. He tricked me into being adopted and when I tried to back out, he told me he'd kill you. The night of the variety hour, he forced me into a human form because he thought it'd make more money. I ran away from him and started living in the streets.

"That night I followed Terrance home, I fled because I _thought _you'd react like this. I was too ashamed of what I'd done, too afraid of your reaction, and I couldn't take it. I didn't tell Foster's I was living in the streets because that meant I would have to admit everything leading up to that. Not to mention I was afraid if I lived there again, Kip might be able to find me, but, more importantly, you."

Voice dangerously low, he proceeded to tell him what transpired that night and Kip's general treatment. Mac, thunderstruck, said nothing until he finished. In his bag, he carried a few candy bars and, fumbling, he offered one to Bloo. The latter refused, folding his arms across his chest and shaking his head.

"I'm not hungry any more. I'm not _anything _any more. When I wrote 'Teenage Suicide', I wasn't sure if I wanted you to hear at all. It was my last attempt to reach you, but, if that didn't work, it'd be my encore song for my last show ever. It still might. I'm done being Kip's bitch."

Trembling, Mac grabbed him by the waist and sat him down. Bloo's eyes softened and he leaned against him temporarily. He hadn't felt comfort in years, particularly not from Mac. He rested against his shoulder and sighed.

"I'm so tired…" he whispered. "Just let me have this one last encore…"

"Bloo!" Mac scolded, scared out of his mind now. He raised his head to regard him.

"Don't you understand? I've worked this all out. If I die, sure fans might be upset, but Kip can leave you alone. And then everything'll be all right. You'll see, Mac. Everything'll be so much better."

Brain numb with horror, Mac discovered absolutely no thoughts came to mind. He was simply too aghast to think, nonetheless spell out Bloo's reasons for living. The humanoid imaginary friend smiled tragically and brushed his cheek with his palm. His eyes sparkled with tears and, when Mac touched his own cheek, a stray tear slid down his.

"I'm doing this for _you_."

Kip banged angrily on the door; he'd discovered the annoying intrusion had weaseled his way into R.D.'s dressing room and he was furious beyond words. He raised both fists, splintering the wood. Mac jumped, but Bloo smiled sadly. He rose soundlessly and, after messing up Mac's hair, left to talk to Kip. Mac was left alone, head buzzing and heart heavy.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Not that it matters to y'all, but I decided to do things backwards today. I'm actually replying to the reviews before I write the chapter because, as you know, I haven't been replying. Whee, my fingers are flying! 

At any rate, here we go.

**Rakal- **You pretty much summed it up (although others added). The lyrics to the song definitely made an impression on the seriousness and emotions in that chapter. The funny thing was, there's another version of that song I almost used, but I decided against it. I also wasn't going to put the song in there at all…because I'm not terribly confident in my songwriting ability (considering that's the second song in my life I've ever written).

And didn't you notice? I specialize in depressing. Thanks…I love my Mac! I wanted to hug him so much while I was watching the pilot today. My baby!

**MisterBlue**- He's apologized on every song in that album and the last. Frankie was getting sick of Mac ignoring him- and again, another irony was my original composition had Mac finding out the song for himself. I guess here he's too stubborn.

I was hoping I could clarify a few things, while I'm here. The reason I keep using "R.D." instead of Bloo is because Bloo is starting to _become_ the hollow rock star. He feels he's dying inside and is assuming the role of R.D. Part of him thinks it's just a big acting gig, but this time, he's stuck in the role. I don't know if that makes any sense to anyone but me…

**A. Nonymous**- I'm going to have to respectfully decline writing the hundred word essay. Have you ever actually tried to pin down your words to a concise amount? Ask any of my friends- I did that once and I was _not _a happy camper. I'm not going to spend hours trimming it down to exactly a hundred words (because I'm obsessive like that).

I'm not entirely certain of Kip's fate at the moment. I usually leave the conceptualization of the end until I actually write it. That way, it's fresher and it surprises me.

I thought that the last chapter would have made those quotes perfectly clear, however. (frowns) That's part of why I didn't respond. Mac was starting to realize Bloo's lyrics had more significance than the press placed on them. Most people treat pop lyrics like cheap toys. They don't assume they have any deeper meaning- they're just as vapid as the singer. Mac discovering that they weren't was important.

The chorus was where the words (Chorus-2X) were written above. Unless you're planning to make me an actual song with that, I don't think it matters.

(Frowns) Yes, I _have _heard of it. I've probably seen advertisements on the TV. Why do you ask? Do you have tickets for me?

**Trixie21**- The song was _meant _to be creepy. Nothing less would have shocked Mac into figuring out Bloo desperately needs his help. And, if I'm right, it takes a hell of a lot to break Bloo's spirit. It's almost dead; too….Mac's arrival might only delay his inevitable "death".

The sad thing is, it might not be as easy as Mac showing up to bring Bloo home.

**That's it for now, folks! Until we meet again…**


	6. Meltdown

Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, I hope it doesn't thunder again…

Chapter Six: Meltdown

Kip's eyes narrowed to slits as he smashed Bloo against the cheap wooden door. Bloo's head hit a second later, thundering painfully. Vision swimming, he shut his eyes briefly, aware he was going to pay dearly for ten minutes of solitude. Kip wouldn't dare seriously injure his fledgling star, but he'd certainly give him some bruises. Bloo cursed the makeup artists, skillful enough to hide even the largest black eye and split lip. In the very least, before his final curtain call, he wanted the world to see Kip exactly as he did- an egotistical, greedy bastard who abused Bloo like there was no tomorrow.

Behind the door, Mac leaned forward, listening intently. Of course he believed Bloo when he told him Kip mistreated him, but now he could actually testify to it. Brashly, he ran at the door and tugged heartily at the knob. Bloo's eyes slid sickly to the shaking metal and he swallowed hard. He never wanted Mac to be this involved in his life, especially during a beating. He just wanted to protect his creator.

Kip ignored it momentarily, grabbing Bloo by the collar of his shirt and yanking him up. Bloo glared back, obstinate and defiant. Seeing Mac, albeit shortly, lent him willpower he hadn't shown in years. If he desired information to wield against him to hurt Mac, he'd have to pry it from his cold, dead corpse. He'd long since proved he didn't care what happened to himself, but Mac was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Kip probably knew that, too.

"_What_ did you tell him?" he spat, pummeling the humanoid against the door. In a way, Bloo was thankful he hadn't thrown him on the floor or shifted him to the nearby wall. Mac was bound to run out, trying to protect him, and that was the last thing Bloo needed. He didn't want to be protected- there wasn't much left he wished. Except Mac's assured safety, but that was it.

"What do _you _care?" Bloo snapped, ire rising. "After I wrote 'Teenage Suicide' and it was approved, you told me that if I thought of killing myself, I should do it after your retirement was ensured! You never gave a damn about me! All you do is use me!"

"And it took you two years to figure that out, huh? No wonder you're just a pathetic rock star- you have the _brains _of a rock," Kip retorted coldly, punching him in the eyes. Bloo whimpered, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of anything else. When his head recoiled to the door again, it smacked soundly. At this rate, the only stars he was going to see were the ones dancing in his vision. _I hate you…I hate you…_

Pounding commenced from the other side and Bloo's heart sank to his stomach. He was no fool- he'd seen the look on his creator's face when he told him his plan. Mac still cared deeply for him and hearing this drove him mad. He wanted to help him, rescue him. Images flooded his mind; all were particularly gruesome deaths at the hands of Kip. Without Mac, he'd kill himself in front of everyone. He wouldn't even pretend to care anymore. Slip on a plug and break his neck, slit his wrists or throat…they'd be easy on stage.

"Bloo!" Mac screamed, ramming the door. He longed to warn him and explain why he wasn't worth rescuing. Kip smiled crookedly, watching the play of emotions on his face. The color drained from Bloo's face and he struggled to release himself from Kip's grip. Kip smirked, holding steadfast.

Throwing him down to the floor, Kip ground his foot into Bloo's throat. Bloo glared up, unmitigated hatred burning his gaze. So this was how he was going to die? Murdered by his producer hours before a show? He couldn't say it surprised him- he'd thought many times in the past Kip would grow weary of him and murder him by "accident". He'd goaded him into it once, hoping he really _would _kill him. Only the pyrotechnics, stumbling upon the scene, snatched Kip forcibly by the arms and removed him. They'd been paid handsomely not to speak out, of course.

"Mac…" Bloo croaked, weakly perceiving him rip the door open. Stunned, Mac stared down, horrified. Smirking, Kip ground his heel into Bloo's throat and enjoyed Bloo's slight cries. The creature's eyes shifted to Mac, poising to lunge at Kip. The youth looked like he wanted to rip Kip's throat out for hurting Bloo like this.

Snapping his fingers, Kip summoned two hefty security guards, enveloping Mac on both sides. Mac fought valiantly, but they overpowered him. Still squirming, he screamed Bloo's name until one clapped a hand over his mouth. Bloo could almost hear him screaming in his mind.

"I _knew _it wasn't a good idea to have him here. I _knew _you'd get ideas," he snarled, stepping off to permit Bloo oxygen. Greedily, the imaginary friend gulped air, his whole body shuddering. Adjacent to them, Mac kicked pitifully at his captors and continued to scream Bloo's name, muffled thanks to the thickness of their palms.

Recovering enough to speak, Bloo glared reproachfully at Kip and struggled to his feet. The world swam in seas of color, but he focused on Mac. His eyes watered, but he wasn't sure whether it was from pain, exertion, or misery at seeing his creator struggling to his aid. He hadn't asked for this, any of it. Was this his karmic retribution? All the nasty pranks he pulled, everything he'd ever done and said had led up to his point. Was God mocking him derisively for things he couldn't remember doing?

"Call them off!" Bloo snarled, starting forward. Kip slammed him against the wall and smirked. His hands snaked around, pinning Bloo. Out of the corner of his eye, Bloo spotted Mac, tiring but clearly yelling for his imaginary friend. The guards blinked, befuddled by Mac's apparent lack of self concern. Struggling hurt him as well.

"I don't think so," Kip retorted. "I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place. Now you've probably gone and told him everything-"

"I told him I wanted to die! It's the truth!" Bloo screamed, desperate. "Just let him _go_!"

"Is that _all _you told him?" Kip hissed. "I think there's more."

The guards, astounded, released Mac thoughtlessly. He tumbled to the dirty floor and blinked up in amazement. Still, hearing him reaffirm his death wish made his stomach flip flop nauseatingly. Free from his impediment, Mac rose unsteadily to his feet and glared. He had to think of something…_anything_…

"I told him you're an asshole! Fine, happy? It's true too! You treat me like shit- animals get better treatment. I didn't tell him how much I hate you, but I guess you already know that, huh?" Bloo hissed, folding his arms across his chest. Kip grabbed both arms and twisted them behind his back. This time, Bloo actually cried out, in a surprising amount of pain. However, before Kip could attempt to break one of them, Mac charged him and tackled him to the floor.

"Leave him _alone_," Mac growled, sitting on his chest. "Let us leave and I won't call the cops on every law you've broken, I swear. Just give him to me."

Leaving? Honestly vanishing from sight, no longer being a rock star or being forced to perform when he wanted to drop dead of exhaustion? No more sleepless nights and foodless days? No more verbal and physical abuse? It sounded too good to be true. Eating all he wanted at Foster's…sleeping in a bed instead of a cot or, worse, inside a cage.

"And a twelve year old honestly thinks he can overpower me?" Kip snickered, shoving Mac off. Mac stumbled, but stood swiftly. He didn't wait for Kip, though- he leaned one foot on his chest, much like Kip had to Bloo's throat. Bloo blinked, taken aback by Mac's resorting to violence. Then again, there really was no compromise with him. Either that or hearing him slammed against the wall had sapped the last of his patience.

"You don't have the guts, kid. Even if you really wanted to, you couldn't hurt me. You care too much about your fellow creatures to start anything."

Mac glanced at Bloo, gazing slack-jawed at him. An unspoken dialogue passed between them.

"Why aren't you jumping at this? You can make him let you go!" Mac's eyes inquired, scrutinizing Bloo intently. Bloo winced, always uncomfortable under the heat of his creator's gaze. He dropped his head, wishing the bloodlust had lasted. Then, he could join Mac and perhaps finally free himself. Instead of happiness, fury, or vengeance, he felt dully empty. That was the true meaning of depression- all other emotions quaked before it. He couldn't feel anything anymore.

The guards regained their composure and in a matter of seconds, materialized behind Mac. They cracked their knuckles threateningly before snatching him off and hauling him somewhere. Bloo watched them go, suddenly drained completely. He wished he _had _helped Mac…or at least murdered Kip. Maybe he could have gotten off for that, since it was justifiable homicide. Years of abuse and all that.

"Mac!" Bloo suddenly screamed, tearing off down the hall to him. A door slammed in front of him, barring his entrance. Feeling pathetic, Bloo stomped off to run into Kip, leering unpleasantly.

"Lights, camera, action, brat."

* * *

Panic stricken, queasy with sweaty palms, Bloo prepared to greet the screaming crowd. He hadn't seen Mac since the guards dragged him off and fretted during makeup (or reconstruction, in his opinion), wardrobe, and everything else. If anything had happened to his creator, it was all his fault. He wished he hadn't won the contest now, because he was in even more danger. 

_Mac, what have I dragged you into_? Bloo thought, hugging himself. He couldn't stop shaking. A thousand dreadful scenarios involving Mac's brutal assassination, most in front of him though some only within earshot, haunted him. For the first time, Bloo honestly wanted to cancel the show, find his creator, and hightail it out of here. As soon as he knew Mac was safe, he'd force himself on stage.

_Let him be okay…_

"Get on stage _now_," Kip growled, shoving his protégé forward. Bloo stayed put, craning his neck. He couldn't see him at all, neither in the crowd or backstage. His stomach lurched and, if he'd anything to expel from his system, he might be sick.

"Where's Mac?" Bloo snapped. "I'm not going on unless I know he's okay."

"R.D.! R.D.!" the crowd screeched, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. Bloo ignored them. They didn't know what was going on, anyway. Their puny preteen minds couldn't grasp it. How could they possibly understand Bloo was going insane because his _real _creator might be hurt thanks to his bastard producer? How could they understand anything at all? They were just stupid humans.

"He's _fine_," Kip snarled, shoving him on stage. Before Bloo could dart back in to question him, the lights fell upon him and, sick to his stomach, he launched into R.D.

* * *

""Everything I say I've said before 

Life has no significance anymore

I just want sweet surrender and peace

I want my life to cease."

Bloo sang half heartedly, his knees quaking. He felt the familiar sensation of nausea, exhaustion, dizziness, alternating heat and cold, and shivers. In a few moments, he was going to pass out. He welcomed it gladly after the events of today. Sure, he might collapse in front of everyone, but he was used to that now.

"I've been used and abused

My only wish refused-"

Bloo's knees buckled again, this time threatening to drop him. Swaying dangerously, he clutched the microphone stand for dear life. The fans became blurs of color and his words gargled in his ears. He couldn't even finish the damn song…

"Just let me escape any way I can

This world is more than I can stand…"

Colors faded to gray, then black. His knees crumpled under him and he fell to darkness.

* * *

"Bloo!" Mac screamed, scrambling out of the clutches of Kip's security guards to run onstage and catch Bloo before he hit the stage. In his arms, he felt light, almost unnaturally so. Meanwhile, in front, fans screamed, finally broken out of their astonishment to realize something big was going down. Their beloved R.D. had fainted and a mysterious brown haired boy was cradling him.

Bloo breathed shallowly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. All the blood drained from Mac's face. He had to get him to a doctor. After everything that happened to him, he sincerely doubted Bloo was remotely healthy. And his collapsing proved it.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" Kip snarled, stepping onstage. A million eyeballs watched eagerly. Mac rose unsteadily, propping Bloo up. He was surprised he hadn't resorted to his imaginary form already. Maybe he'd been trained not to.

"Rescuing Bloo," Mac snapped, cautiously maneuvering themselves away. "_You're _the one who did this to him."

"Preposterous," Kip retorted, though up close, Mac saw beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. He grabbed a microphone, pointed to the guards Mac had evaded, and then to Bloo. Mac's stomach flopped, but, before he could step even five feet away, he was short an imaginary friend and his chance to free him.

* * *

**Replies to reviews!**

**Rakal**- That he was. "Let's Bloo this!"

And fyi, that's why I added the three weeks between. That way, Bloo would have time become depressed again. Yes, it _was _nice for him to snap at Kip for once, instead of the other way around. If only he weren't too depressed to attack when he was down.

I agree wholeheartedly with the whole argument in the last chapter. I don't write how people would like to see it, but as it would really happen. I just write what comes to me, basically.

I love nice and dark. (smiles)

**Trixie21**- Alas, poor Eurick, no. No imaginary friends stowed away. No help for Mac…_yet_.

I'm, er, sidestepping your large paragraph about Bloo's future condition. No offense.

Thanks…I appreciate your reviews.

**MisterBlue**- If you can call California the "middle of nowhere". I think a few thousand people might consider that untruthful.

And this chapter had more Mac/Bloo interaction. (smiles) Too bad Kip knows exactly how to hurt Bloo…

**Nonymous**- Yes, well, secretly, I'm too lazy to do that. Well, that and it's terribly stressful. I hope college professors won't mandate a certain amount of words maximum. I'll go insane.

It probably did. Too bad it scared the hell out of Mac. I think at the root of it all, Bloo really _does _want rescue, but he's terrified it'll come at the expense of his creator. So he'd rather kill himself than have Kip murder Mac. That's what it all boils down to, self sacrifice.

I don't think Kip actually cares if anything important was discussed. He knows Bloo's stuck and he's exploiting it. Though he might have a problem covering up Bloo's collapse in front of several thousand (or more) fans. Not to mention the sole person darting out to cradle him after screaming "Bloo!" and not "Deo!" or "R.D.!"

I've never actually read that poem. And I'm sorry to snap- sometimes I do that. I get rather impatient rather quickly. I apologize.

It'd be easier to understand the song in your head if this site didn't insist on screaming up my format. It really irks me.

Aw, damn. I thought I was in for a treat. And the only two musicals I've ever seen are "Wicked" and "Les Miserables". I remember nothing of the latter but adored the former. That probably doesn't help you at all.

Thanks.

**Kcbs**- I hope you're not _actually _crying. One lost review isn't worth tears, sweetie.

As opposed to me, who's always on the computer. I have no life. At any rate…

Well, if it helps you any, Bloo is my favorite character. Therefore, the chances are slim that I will let anything that drastic happen to him. However, I will say no more on that topic.

**That's it for now! Thanks and be sure to read and review.**

**Until we meet again…**


	7. Last Trick

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Sorry to disappoint.

Chapter Seven: Last Trick

"It's not your fault," Frankie commiserated, patting Mac's shoulder and easing herself next to him on the couch. It'd been two days after Bloo's collapse and recapture and he'd wasted no time informing the household. Coco, Ed, Wilt, Frankie and Madame Foster immediately empathized with Bloo. The severe Mr. Herriman became fanatical about banning R.D.'s music, to the point where he reduced Eduardo to tears multiple times. Frankie had snapped, but Madame Foster shot up and, much to Herriman's chagrin, confessed the reason behind his reaction. He thought they mocked a real problem. For all his displeasure with the situations Bloo had placed himself in and the rules he'd broken, he cared about him.

In fact, everyone, inside the house and out, sympathized with R.D./Bloo. Though it had initially been Bloo's fault for bringing himself to Kip's attention for years ago, all agreed he hadn't asked for this. Imaginary friends around Foster's spoke cajolingly to Mac, but their words fell on deaf ears. He'd heard them too many times before.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Mac inched his head down and then up to acknowledge her. When he wasn't at Foster's, tuning out sympathy, he was at home, staring at the ceiling and replaying the day in excruciating detail. There were so many things he could have done differently, especially since he knew Kip's capabilities. In fact, there was only one thing he'd done right the whole day- catch Bloo.

The press finally had a story Kip couldn't stop or silence. (Mac didn't doubt he was trying fervently to quiet them). No matter how you sliced it, five hundred thousand people had witnessed R.D. collapse, saw Mac scream "Bloo!" (an "unnamed brown haired fan", the papers dubbed him) and heard his accusations. Teen magazines published articles frantically, overlooking editing for swiftness. So, while the articles _were _fraught with errors, they contained the bulk of the matter. Editorialists dissected "Teenage Suicide" endlessly, many missing the point entirely. However, at long last, listeners were catching on. There was more than just a pretty face behind R.D. There was a _story_.

R.D.'s latest hit, released hastily after his reported hospitalization, received more attention than even "Teenage Suicide". The song about unrequited love and insurmountable obstacles often weaseled its way onto the radio or MP3 players. The hunt was on to discover the object of R.D.'s affection and, if possible, either force them to fall for him or R.D. to concede defeat because they offered more. Fans and magazines alike went nuts guessing, jumping from a normal human lover (usually a girl) to a celebrity (Grey Delisle), or an imaginary friend. The last was deemed least likely (though they had no idea R.D. secretly _was _an imaginary friend). One hit the nail on the head and named "the unknown fan" as his object. It listed numerous reasons, including Bloo's suddenly important whispers to Mac.

As if the twelve year old didn't have enough to worry about- R.D. had vanished from the public eye concert night. Though many _assumed _he'd been hospitalized, the sad truth was no one actually _knew_. Mac's nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Kip had to be infuriated and he remembered all too well his treatment when he was merely furious. More than anything, he feared for Bloo's life. If indeed Bloo was suicidal (and all signs pointed to yes), then Kip might harp on it and drive the imaginary friend to kill himself. His chest constricted thinking about it. His imaginary friend could be miles away and there was nothing he could do to prevent his death.

Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman both insisted he'd know if Bloo was on the brink, but Mac wasn't certain. He hadn't known until "Teenage Suicide" his friend's thoughts and even then, he'd had to hear from the horse's mouth to accept it. He spent the vast majority of his time refuting Herriman's obstinate dismissal of his worries. If he hadn't been so fretful himself, he might have seen the rabbit's rather dubious look. Herriman wondered himself whether Mac's bond with Bloo was as his strong as Madame Foster's with him.

Frankie sighed, hugging him. She ruffled his hair affectionately and waited until he commented. Several minutes passed, but the pre-adolescent merely glared at the unhelpful television. Networks boasting of information on R.D.'s whereabouts were wrong every time. He was sick of lies and sick to death of wondering if Bloo was dead or alive.

"I'm sure he's okay…" she murmured, cradling him like a mother would her son.

* * *

Kip paced the hospice waiting room agitatedly. Since he figured the paparazzi flocked to every hospital in the tri-state area, he'd flown R.D. to New York City for placement in a hospice. The doctors had to be paid off to admit him, since hospices were generally used for the terminally ill. Kip had muttered under his breath he _hoped _R.D. died, because then he'd get royalties for the sky-high sales of his memorial CDs. One doctor gave him a rather dirty look and, unfortunately for him, that doctor now presided over his young star. He hadn't told him a damn thing since he'd been admitted.

Strolling up to the intensive care unit, he listened to the dying wails of patients. He ignored them and pounded on the door irately. They _would _admit him and then, once inside, he might be sorely tempted to wrap the oxygen cord around Bloo's neck. Never before was it necessary to fend off so much bad publicity. The imaginary friend was going to get it.

* * *

"Your _creator_ is here to see you," the doctor muttered sarcastically, filing up to the door to shake his head sharply. Thank goodness for safety locks, preventing the most insane family members from barging in unwanted. Otherwise, he might have a situation on his hands.

Wearing a tidy white lab coat, the brown haired doctor smiled genuinely at R.D., who said nothing and hung his head. It'd been this way since he'd been admitted. Nurses pried scarce details about his personal history and he spent his time glaring sullenly at the ceiling. Though he'd never treated rock stars, he had a certain idea of their behavior. R.D. behaved more like someone told he had only six minutes left to live.

"He's not my creator," Bloo snapped, folding his arms across his chest and coughing. Five minutes passed before the water Doctor Cal administered settled his lungs and aching throat. He gave him a weak, grateful smile and settled reluctantly back into his pillows. This was the most comfortable he'd been, but also the longest amount of time he had to himself in months. Thoughts of suicide darted through his mind, but, cemented within, were burning desires to see Mac. One last time, if only to say goodbye…

"I'm sure you have parents, right?" he smiled coaxingly, but Bloo turned his head. _I have my Mac…Mac…_

Bloo shook his head, eyes narrowed at Kip's angry roars. Among them was the threat to kill R.D. if they kept him away any longer. Bloo scoffed- he'd be dead by Kip's hands sooner if they relaxed their rules. For once, rules worked in his favor. They kept the raving lunatic out and the depressed, suicidal imaginary friend in.

Dropping his voice, he knelt close and murmured, "Are you an imaginary friend in disguise?"

Unsure how to answer, spying a cell in the doctor's pocket, he tried to grab it inconspicuously. When that fell through, he offered him a weak smile and sighed. Kip would never let him contact Mac, especially not when Bloo was this vulnerable and no one else had the right to see him. He had to call him _now_, before the opportunity passed. Yet the fact remained- how on earth was he going to explain all this to the doctor?

"Don't you have your own?" he replied, frowning slightly. Desperation shone in Bloo's eyes and he contemplated stealing it, regardless of how the doctor might react. He had to have it. He _had _to contact Mac.

"No," he answered honestly. "Kip won't let me have one." _Because he knows who I'll call._

"That's unusual," the doctor murmured, thoughtful, handing the device over. "I wonder why."

Eager, misdialing the first time, Bloo punched the numbers in of Foster's and waited for the telltale ring. He crossed his fingers in his other hand and prayed Mac would answer. It was too early for him to be home and if he wasn't there, where else _could _he be? Bloo's mind traveled in circles, fixated on the ringing phone in his right hand.

"Hello?" a voice answered and Bloo nearly hit "end" in excitement. He jumped (Doctor Cal stared) and grinned from ear to ear. He was there! He really was! Happiness bubbled within him.

"Mac!" Bloo screamed, no doubt deafening the poor doctor, speeding out of the room, and his creator, wincing. A few seconds passed, followed by an 'ow'. Bloo's hand glistened with sweat and his heart fluttered wildly. Outside the room, prowling menacingly, Kip stopped pacing to bang on the doors. No one, thankfully, paid him any mind.

Silence, then, "Bloo? Bloo, where _are _you?"

Panting, Bloo was painfully aware how limited his minutes were. Kip was bound to bully someone into letting him in and the instant he did, he'd snap the phone in half. Bye-bye Mac, forget talking to him again before he committed suicide. The slim comfort of knowing he'd die within moments of Kip discovering his call consoled him little.

"Bloo?" Mac pressed, jolting Bloo out of his reverie. Glimmers of an idea struck and he bit his lip, considering summoning Kip. He might have a proposition, although it would take cunning to maneuver. He wanted Mac at his side until the end- and when he wanted something this badly, he'd get it no matter what.

Breathing deeply, he told him exactly where he was and everything transpiring in his absence. Mac listened intently, worried by the weariness in his voice. When Bloo brushed him off, he became more concerned. Swallowing hard, Bloo lied miserably, not at all placating him. Mac's anxiety deepened; he saw right through him.

"I'm fine, don't worry about it. If I'd killed myself, I wouldn't be calling, now would I?" he joked weakly.

"THAT ISN'T FUNNY!" Mac roared, scaring the living daylights out of his imaginary friend. He fumbled the phone before rightfully placing it beside his ear. Trembling, he listened to his creator chew him out. He didn't enjoy it in the past and nor now.

"I don't want you _thinking _of that and don't even _joke_. If anything happened to you-"

"If anything happened to me, you'd move on. I've been gone for four years, remember? You only cared for the last few _months_, when you finally figured out I was trying to reach you."

Silence ensued and Mac exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry…but you have to listen. I care about you. I'm the one who caught you, I'm-"

"_You _caught me? Kip was going on about some stupid guard he had to fire because he didn't let my head hit the floor. You…why would you…?" Flabbergasted, he stared at the phone like it was foreign to him. _Why would you save **me**?_

"As much as you don't want to hear this, I really do care about you, Bloo. That's why Frankie and I are devising a plan to free you. But you have to-"

Enraged, practically spitting flames, Kip tore into the room and ripped the cell from Bloo's ear.

"You're talking to _him_, aren't you?" he screamed, brandishing the phone and shaking it in his upraised fist. Mac's voice continued, tinny and incoherent. He should have realized it was too good to be true. He'd never dared before…and now he knew why.

Forcing calm, struck by an idea, he replied coolly, "I was thinking of killing myself on stage after I tell the world what you've done. I'll be on live television and when my world ends, you'll be arrested. You won't see a single drop of the millions you stole and when you die, you'll rue my name."

Kip halted in his tracks and, on the other side of the phone, Mac listened intently. Bloo was on the verge of outsmarting Kip and he crossed his fingers in his lap. _Please let him trick him…just once…bring us closer so I can take Bloo away…_

"You want to stop those pesky fans from learning any more, don't you? Why not hire someone to keep me busy so you don't have to worry about anything leaking? Sure, you could kill me, but then you'd have a job hiding my death again. And there'll be people who don't believe you…"

Through gritted teeth, aware this concession might cost him dearly, he snapped, "What do you want?"

"Make Mac my personal assistant."

"Absolutely not!" Kip snarled, fingers itching to cut off his air supply. Bloo noticed, but, smirking, shook his head. His eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Of course…what I _could _tell them might rival anything I'd say to the millions. Tabloids would offer me _real _money for any lies I dish out, including a fake fetish for fish. Don't believe me? Go on, try me. I've been sneaking messages to Mac for nearly two years now and you haven't been able to say 'boo'. Would you like to see just how much moolah my words bring at your downfall?"

"You wouldn't _dare_," Kip snapped, but he paled. Bloo sounded entirely serious.

"Try me." Bloo grinned viciously, enjoying his power. He'd never thought of this before. The adrenaline rush brought him out of his depression long enough to realize Mac hadn't hung up yet. He continued to grin. This was good, very good indeed.

"And how do I know your little friend won't blurt out anything?" he snarled and Bloo's grin wavered. Mac was determined to free Bloo from Kip's clutches and the only way to do that was to expose him to the world. But he needed him at his side…until the final encore…

"He won't," Bloo replied, less confident than he let on. "He won't because he's too worried I'll commit suicide."

Kip snickered hatefully, clearly relishing the thought of him dead. It filled the room and reverberated painfully back, slapping Bloo in the face. His heart panged when he remembered Mac's reaction. _It's not funny that I'm considering it…because I'm completely serious…_

"If you can ensure he'll let you kill yourself and give me the rest of the money you'll ever earn, you have a deal."

"I'm sure he will." _Over my dead body…_

"I'll give him three months. If he doesn't let you go through with it, _I _will."

* * *

**Replies to reviews!**

**Rakal**- Yes, dark rules. I'd be typing this right now in the dark, but my father always turns on the light and then berates me for ruining my eyes. Darkness soothes.

You've made it abundantly clear you disliked that cliffhanger. Although I wish to make my chapters cliffhangers so people will want the next chapter, I don't intentionally make them excruciating. I just stop where I feel the chapter should end.

Kip said, if I'm not mistaken (and I'm not checking my own words, either), "You care about creatures too much to go through with it. You can't do it." Mac wouldn't deliberately harm another being, regardless of how much they've hurt Bloo. It's just not in his nature.

Since that's about all I have to say, thanks for reviewing.

**MisterBlue**- I'm not going to bring up the argument I had with you over this review, although it _was _fueled by an external force. Stupid bloody horny faery/human.

Mac's opportunity will rise again. He's got three months to weasel Bloo out…before Kip kills him. Kip's getting tired of his little star and he wants him _gone_. Apparently, his rebellion means he's too much of a bother.

**Trixie21**- Mac's emotions aren't quite as charged as they are in Sunrise, Sunset. Though I doubt he'd hurt anyone willingly in that either, regardless of how they deserve it. Like I said, Mac is not a violent person. That's part of why Terrance picks on him so much.

The reason I skipped over your large paragraph is not because I didn't wish to reveal more of the plot than I had to, but because I felt it pertained too closely to a certain situation. I don't wish to discuss that here, on a public forum. (In other words, I'm trying to be diplomatic). I figured you were indeed in one of your moods.

Moving on…

**kcbs**- Um, thanks for reading and reviewing. Perhaps this chapter, you can think of something to say for me to reply to.

**A. Nonymous**- I figured the action happened abruptly and it might have been confusing. Mac himself was confused, which was something I wanted to convey. How could he have Bloo in his arms one second then have him gone the next? It was a whirlwind.

As of this moment, I must confess I'm lazy. I _have _heard of Deus Ex Machina, but have not researched it. I'm aware it's a plot device, but I cannot tell you anymore, because I simply do not know. I _know _it was on my ninth grade Honors English final (the first question), but I also know I got that question wrong. (Oddly, that's the only question I remember from that final).

I shan't say anything about Kip revealing himself. That's too much information.

Once again, I confess my ignorance. We never read that story in school, ergo, I've never heard of it. Perhaps when I teach in four years, it'll be a part of the curriculum.

This site loves to remove words and tweak them. For the record, this chapter was perfect until it touched QuickEdit. If there are any errors, it's not my fault.

As long as the songs aren't as bad as the ones from Avenue Q, then I'll see. Heh, Q reminds me of Blooregard Q. Kazoo. I'm utterly obsessed with Foster's.

Er, thanks.

**That's it for now. Please continue to read and review, folks. I appreciate your input!**

**Until we meet again…**


	8. Homesickness

Disclaimer: Mac/Bloo-ness (one sided) in the beginning scene. If you didn't see it coming, shame on you. Who _else _did you think that song was about? At any rate, if you don't like that idea, skip the first scene.

As usual, Foster's does not belong to me.

Chapter Eight: Home Sickness

Mac's fingers drummed absently on the back of Bloo's chair as he listened to him rehearse for what felt like the millionth time. A month had passed since he'd become Bloo's personal assistant and he hadn't yet hammered a plan for his escape. At least he was eating better, but only because Mac practically had to force food down his throat. If he didn't sit next to him, Bloo threw it out. He'd muttered "I'm going to die anyway" whenever he protested and Mac had finally smacked him. Stunned, Bloo ate every drop.

"I know I've never been completely honest with you

"But some of these emotions split me into two

I wanna tell you how I feel

But then I wonder if it's real

"I've spent sleepless nights thinking about it

How the world would throw a fit

What they'd say about you and me

Only one belongs in this reality

(Chorus, repeated twice)

"You fought for me when no one else would

You forced me when no one else could

But for me, time's steadily running out

How can I make these last few hours count?

"I know you'll never love me back

I'd have better luck with a sack

I steal glances when you look away

I tell myself today's the day

"But I can't open my mouth to speak

I can feel my knees get weak

I want them to know what I feel inside

But every time I try, I run and hide

(Chorus)

(Last verse)

"I want you more than I can stand

If it's not too much, touch my hand

I'm in love with you

And I'm completely blue

(Chorus twice until end)

"I'm in love with you, Mac…" Bloo whispered, gripping the microphone tightly. His creator, spacing out, heard none of it. In fact, he hadn't listened to "Unrequited Symphony" once since he started singing it. The sad truth of the matter was he was going to die without him knowing how he felt about him. Then again, he reminded himself steely; he probably didn't want to hear that anyway. He sighed, wondering if he'd notice if he kissed him on the lips. Probably not.

Mac lifted his head just then and blinked at his creation. The magazine in his hands, open to an article on R.D.'s love interest, fell out. Instead of claiming one particular interest, it listed all of the possibilities. There at the very bottom was a picture of Mac cradling Bloo and the color drained from his face. Without even asking, he snatched it off the floor and shoved in a drawer. If he wasn't going to listen to his songs, then he shouldn't know from outside sources. Right now, he thought he preferred he didn't know anything, period.

"Were you talking to me?" he asked politely, wondering why Bloo had shoved his paper in there. He enjoyed reading the incorrect opinions of others on Bloo's love life. Of course, he'd seen the articles about him being in love with his creator, but he considered them trash like the rest. After all, if they were important, Bloo would have pointed them out to him.

_Well, I **did **just sing a love song to you and confess my feelings, but no, I guess I didn't say anything. Goddamn it, Mac!_ Wordlessly, he flung himself on the chair beside him, grabbed water, and guzzled it. His hands were shaking and his eyes narrowed to slits. So he'd die without him finding out. Well, he didn't stand a chance anyway. What did it matter?

"You've been acting really strange," he frowned, touching Bloo's arm. Bloo jumped, cursing himself inwardly for minimizing contact. He'd been acting like this for two weeks, jumping out of his skin when Mac touched him. It was that he wanted the touch to last so badly, he ended up shortening it instead. His arm tingled where his fingers brushed it.

"I wanna kiss you so badly, Mac…" Bloo whispered, blushing scarlet. He was barely audible and Mac frowned, wondering if he'd said what he thought he had. The instant he opened his mouth to ask him to repeat it, his phone rang. Part of his compensation for only spending one night with R.D. instead of a whole day was a new cell phone, free for a year. Frankie had told him she'd call if she found anything out or figured anything out.

Relieved and frustrated at once, Bloo watched Mac walk into his bathroom and shut the door so he wouldn't be overheard. Both feared Kip would beat the truth out of Bloo, thus, only Mac knew what Frankie and he discussed. Miserable and fatigued, he curled up in the chair Mac formerly occupied and waited. He hadn't heard Frankie's voice in four years. Part of him thought if he did, he might go insane with homesickness.

* * *

"Kip came here today to claim anything Bloo might have left behind and file an official adoption notice with Herriman. He threw him out- I've never heard him defend Bloo before, but he started saying how much he's ruined him and how he should be ashamed of himself. Ed had to physically hoist him out, 'cuz I think he threatened Mr. H," Frankie said after they'd exchanged pleasantries. Behind the cheerfulness, he caught omnipresent anxiety. At least Mac was _with _Bloo- Frankie had to hear everything after the fact.

"Mac, I think we might have less time than we thought. I think he's planning on striking soon."

Mac sighed, gripping the phone tightly. He opened the door to glance at Bloo, arms wrapped around his knees. Since he'd become his assistant, he'd seen him more vulnerable than ever before. It wasn't hard to imagine Kip striking while the iron was hot and hurting him when he looked so juvenile. His heart panged.

"We have to do something," he replied, shutting the door. On the other side, Frankie sighed and then relayed to him their best course of action. She'd pinpointed the day Kip planned to carry the deed out thanks to his argument with Herriman and how Ed, Coco, Wilt, Herriman, and she would arrange to arrive then. He nodded, then, remembering she couldn't see it, affirmed aloud.

"Mac…can I talk to Bloo?"

Taken aback, he quickly said yes and retrieved him. The odd thing was, Frankie insisted to speak with Bloo in private, leaving Mac to retrieve his paper and rifle through it. Within the glossy pages, he located the article and began to read evidence "Unrequited Symphony" was secretly about him. He snickered, greatly amused.

* * *

"Frankie!" Bloo cried, a mix of exhilaration at hearing her voice again and constant exhaustion. On the other side, she smiled softly and clasped her hands together. What she was about to say wasn't going to be pleasant for either of them, but Mac had been so busy preventing Kip from attacking Bloo and seeking weaknesses to delve into it. That and she really wanted him to understand the truth of the matter. Sometimes, an objective perspective helped.

"Hey, Bloo. It's been a while," she replied, wishing she could hold this conversation face to face. It was easier to lie over the phone and she was willing to bet once she hit a nerve, Bloo would start up immediately.

"I…" He wanted to say he missed Foster's, he really did, but admitting that meant admitting he wanted to go back. Blinking furiously, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. If he never returned to Foster's, he'd never see Frankie again. Would he miss her that much? She'd never been anything but sweet to him, except when he misbehaved. Even then, she'd been fairer than Herriman.

"Foster's hasn't been the same without you. Everyone's too well behaved," she teased and a lump formed in Bloo's throat. He _did _miss her and the rest of Foster's. Tears blurred his vision and, stubbornly, he wiped his face. Hearing her voice made him dreadfully homesick and he suddenly longed to run out of the studio, to the nearest airport, and fly to Foster's to fling himself at her. He was having a hard time keeping calm.

"Herriman even tells imaginary friends off for taking you too lightly. He insists you were at the top of your form four years ago and you'll come back to wreak more havoc than we can ever dream of. In fact, he's preparing now."

It was amazing- he'd hated Herriman, but the mere mention of his name in Frankie's voice brought tears closer to the surface. He swallowed hard again, wishing he could stop caring. Tears slid down his cheeks and he hugged himself with one arm. How could he care what happened to his old friends? How could listening to Frankie make him this miserable? Shouldn't he be apathetic? Was she awakening the part of him that _didn't _want to die?

He _meant _to say he wouldn't have a chance to prepare because he'd be dead before then, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth. Instead, between sobs, he choked, "I miss you! I miss all of you! I wanna go home!"

Silence passed- Frankie yearned to reach through the phone wires and cradle Bloo like she had his creator. His sobs were tearing her up inside. What was worse was she had their conversation on speaker in case she choked up. Herriman could hear him weeping. However, when the rabbit spoke (she found herself strangely at a loss), it was surprisingly gentle. Madame Foster had been right- he _was _concerned.

"Master Blooregard, do you care for us more than yourself?" Mr. Herriman murmured, actually patting Frankie on the shoulder. She smiled weakly, then proceeded to blow her nose noisily on a handkerchief. He sighed, privately thinking there were more courteous ways to blow your nose, but said nothing. Bloo was more important right now.

"I…I don't understand." Leaning heavily against the bathroom mirror, he breathed deeply and attempted to dispel his tears. He heard Frankie sniffle and it only caused more tears to tumble down his cheeks. He'd never wanted to make her cry.

"I know that must seem like an unusual question, considering how much time you spent here proving you were more selfish than selfless. Yet I digress. Masters Wilt, Eduardo, Mac, and Miss Frances and Coco would be incredibly upset were anything…unfortunate to happen to you. I myself would be forced to comfort Miss Frances and persuade her to carry out her usual duties."

"Oh, you stupid rabbit! Tell him you're worried!" Frankie snapped, brandishing her dirty handkerchief. The imaginary rabbit cringed as though she had threatened him with a butcher knife. Indeed, in his mind, it was just as heinous. Surely Madame Foster had taught her granddaughter some manners.

"I most certainly will not! I speak only for the concern of the household!" Mr. Herriman said staunchly and, through his tears, Bloo smiled weakly. He'd missed their arguments too. Frankie would have better luck convincing Kip to publicly confess to his crimes than tricking Herriman into mentioning something so out of character. Still, it'd be nice to hear.

"Damn it, Herriman, you're the one walking up and down the hallways yelling at anyone who dares to listen to his music! You tell people off for talking about his love life and I've _heard _you mutter about his well-being under your breath. You're constantly ducking into the den to check for news and when Mac calls, you're the first to jump at me for answers. You might not _like _him, but you're worried sick about him."

Despite the lump in his throat, Bloo chuckled. Another wave of homesickness swept him and he wished he were sitting in Herriman's office instead of simply overhearing their argument. Maybe he didn't want to be dead…maybe he just wanted to see Frankie and Mr. Herriman go at it. Maybe he just wanted to hear Eduardo croon over Baby Paco and listen to Coco trill endlessly. Maybe instead of dying…he just wanted to live with his friends like old times.

"I admit to nothing! Miss Frances, do you really think I would be so naive as to confess to someone with an enormous ego that I care for him? Surely, I would not-"

Frankie was suddenly overtaken by giggles. Fighting bouts, she chimed, grinning from ear to ear, "You just did! And he heard you!"

Disgruntled, displeased with himself, he fell silent. Bloo heard Frankie giggling happily for a few seconds, obviously relishing this. Finally, a grin broke through and he laughed genuinely for the first time in months. Frankie stopped, beaming at the phone. Peculiarly, Bloo could almost feel her radiance on him and he felt like he'd drunk a mug of steaming hot chocolate.

"I'm going to make your life hell, Herriman. Mark my words!" Bloo cackled, swept up in the moment.

Frankie snickered and then calmed. "You aren't going to kill yourself, are you?"

The words hit him like a leaden brick. For the duration of this conversation, he hadn't a single suicidal thought. He'd been busy picturing them sniping at each other and the familiar halls of home. Home…not some stupid coffin, but an actual building…home was with Frankie…

"Are you going to be there when I get there?" he whispered. "Are you guys going to-"

"Yes…but remember we love you. Even Mr. H, who's glaring at the table like it forced him to tell you that. When you feel like no one cares, remember we're still here. Please, Bloo…don't hurt yourself."

"I…I won't." And for once, he believed himself.

* * *

**Replies to reviews.**

**Rakal**- Too bad one month passed and Kip decided to plunge ahead without much warning. At least Frankie overheard the conversation, because I highly doubt Herriman would have called Bloo on his own. Who didn't see that coming, though? If Bloo's feeling well enough to outsmart him, then who knows what else he'll try?

I just realized Kip wasn't actually _in _this chapter. (shrugs) At any rate, yes, entertaining in a dark way.

Why _wouldn't _I keep the characters in character? What's with all the bad fanfiction here, anyway? I won't name names, but some of the plot ideas here are ridiculous. I don't just write them however I want to- I write whatever I feel is right.

Mac's just clueless in everything, isn't he? He doesn't listen to "Unrequited Symphony", he doesn't carefully read the articles about him and Bloo, and he didn't hear him say he wanted to kiss him. Though some of that may be a determination to ignore the facts.

**A. Nonymous**- It's not that she stood up to him, but that she mentioned the real reason behind his behavior. We rarely see that. Most of the time, we think he's a very uptight rabbit. But now we know he secretly cares…let's hear a group 'aw'!"

Oy, if they don't know who she is, well, let's just say Frankie, Samantha Manson, Vicky, Tootie, Veronica, the little redheaded girl in the arcade…

I see Frankie as being very motherly (as opposed to being a pedophile, ugh. Stories like that make you want to lose confidence in humanity). That's probably why she sticks around Foster's so much- she has to coddle and comfort the imaginary friends. They're like kids, too, so her instincts are pretty strong.

As for the hospital…it's a hospice, first things first. There really are such things, you know. (I learned about it in Health Class, heh). I have no idea what their procedures are, however, since I'm not terminally ill and therefore, ineligible to be treated there.

As for Bloo hearing Mac's voice, yes, it probably was. To hear someone that far away in your ear really creates a sensation of homesickness, as we saw here and I personally experienced. Too bad their conversation got cut short last chapter.

Kip's going to kill Bloo if Mac doesn't (although he has to know Mac would never harm Bloo like _that_). If he does it in a certain way, he can escape blame and make a bundle off commemorative sales. Agents and producers usually make a cut, but I'm guessing he'd fix it so he'd make almost a hundred percent on sales. Rich bastard.

Now I've heard of Deus Ex Machina. The funny thing is, I use that all the time…and I'm not saying anything else. I've already let too much slip.

Nah, if QuickEdit takes something out, I don't care. You guys are smart enough to tell what was removed and ignore it or fill it in. It's not that big a deal.

I don't like the songs from Avenue Q. They're raunchy and the last time I listened to them, I deleted them after thirty seconds. Then again, that was before I became a South Park fan and raunchy humor wasn't my diet. (shrugs)

**Hyper Shaylee**- Ooh, a new fan. Welcome, new fan. (smiles)

Everyone keeps priding me on them being in character, but I can't write them being any but that way. As for the emotion, that's another thing that just comes to me naturally. I can't control that either. So praise my muse…don't praise me. I think of myself as a channeler, dispelling whatever they want me to write.

Anyone who knows me knows my obsession with Foster's is freakin' huge. It's about as big as my obsession over Fairly Oddparents was a few years ago (and I still like FOP, but I'm not that into it anymore). At least I brought you to a semi close point. (winks)

I'm updating quickly…ah, I'll tell you. I'm updating quickly because I want to finish these stories soon. As sad as that sounds, I have to go to college in September. I don't want to leave them out to get stale while I struggle through college work. It isn't fair to you guys.

And thanks for reading and reviewing.

**lucyrocks73**- Er, thanks.

**MisterBlue**- Obviously, it is. Then again, in this situation, money's only been an issue with Kip. Bloo hasn't seen a dime of his fortune and Mac, of course, hasn't gotten any money at all.

So far, Kip hasn't intercepted it, but at least we have a plan. We don't know what it _is _yet, but we have a plan.

**Kcbs**- I just hope my actual version of the chapter wasn't as bad as the original conception. (pulls a face) Running through airports, but that was before I decided to let Frankie and the rest in there.

I know Mac is both too young to have a job and there are child labor laws. There's also such a thing as being paid under the table…or not being paid at all, which is the case with Mac. Yes, folks, he's helping Bloo out pro bono until he rescues him.

**And that's it for now! Please continue to read and review.**

**Until we meet again…**


	9. Unrequited Symphony

Disclaimer: Foster's is _not_ mine. Alas. And **heavy **Bloo/Mac. Well, still unrequited, but if you don't like that, then I suggest you skip this chapter entirely. Because there's only one scene in here (the second one) that doesn't center around it and that's it. I don't want any complaints because I'll flip out. You have been warned.

Chapter Nine: "Unrequited Symphony"

Outside, the crowd screeched, bellowed, stamped, or otherwise displayed their impatience. Mac outfitted Bloo with the last few adjustments and smiled at him. Bloo, no longer smiling in the slightest but nerves weakening his knees and sweating his palms, nodded curtly. Tonight was the night he'd decided to sing "Unrequited Symphony" to him and he'd never been more frightened of anything in his life. The original playlist demanded that song and since Mac was with him…he really had no choice in the matter.

"Unrequited Symphony" was his last song and he wanted to prove to Mac once and for all his feelings. However, the thought of telling him he was in love with him did not bode well with him. Already tonight, he'd vomited out of pure nerves. He remembered clutching the toilet seat and pleading with himself to forget it. But he couldn't, not now.

"Bloo, are you okay?" he whispered, checking his clammy forehead for a fever. Bloo shivered, but not from the difference in heat. Thanks to his touch, his whole head buzzed. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded and turned away from him to the stage. Breathing deeply, he ran on stage to start his R.D. façade again.

* * *

Shaking his head, wondering what his imaginary friend was hiding, Mac walked straight into Kip, muttering about money and murdering R.D. The latter hardly noticed the intrusion and continued on walking. In fact, Kip proceeded to walk into several more people, finally scolding them for being in his way. He then continued uninterrupted about bumping off R.D. Others stared in his wake, but Mac raced to R.D.'s dressing room to call Frankie.

One, two, three rings and Mac began to swear under his breath. Where _was _she? After the fifth ring, he switched to her cell phone. Surely she had to have _that _on. If not, then there was no way their plan would work at all. She'd promised him she'd be in the general area the day of his last concert and by the looks of things, that concert would be tomorrow.

"Goddamn it, Frankie, pick up!" Mac snapped after the fourth ring. He paced the room and kicked his tabloid around. It opened once again to the page proclaiming R.D.'s love interest was none other than Mac and, frustrated to no end, trod on it. If he got the answering machine one more time, he really would scream.

There was a click and then, a voice asking if he wished to leave a voicemail. He screamed and the phone message stopped abruptly. A calm, albeit bewildered voice answered. Though it wasn't Frankie, it'd do. Mac refrained from screaming once more to settle his nerves.

"Um, hello?" Wilt inquired politely. "Frankie's sort of busy right now, so-"

"Wilt!" Mac exclaimed, sounding so much like Bloo he startled himself. Suddenly, he wondered if it really was such a great idea to leave him on stage like that. Sure, there were thousands of fans watching, but what if Kip decided to do it today rather than tomorrow? His stomach twisted.

"Mac? Was that you screaming before?" he replied, smiling. No matter the situation, you could usually find Wilt in a good mood. That was why Frankie had passed her cell phone off to him. Coco had wanted to answer, but just in case it wasn't someone from Foster's, she didn't want her to start babbling incoherently.

"Yeah…" He winced, wishing he hadn't yelled. "Look, can I please talk to Frankie? It's really important."

"I'm sorry, but she's driving," Wilt answered simply. Behind him, Coco added something, but Mac couldn't quite catch it. Eduardo agreed and Wilt silenced them both.

"Driving? Driving _where_?" he replied, fighting a rising panic. What if she'd randomly decided to take a road trip or had urgent business elsewhere? Kip thundered outside, barking orders at everyone and anyone crossing his path. Mac's anxiety deepened.

"To Bloo's concert, of course," he answered and Mac released a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

"How'd you know?"

From over Wilt's shoulder, Frankie impatiently snapped something at an inconsiderate driver and answered. However, before she could, another SUV cut her off and forced her to step on her brakes lest she run into him. Coco shrieked, Ed gasped, and Wilt gulped. They weren't used to highway driving.

"It's been all over the TV, Mac. Kip says tomorrow's his last concert and-"

"He's going to try to kill him tomorrow!" Mac blurted and Frankie sighed.

"Would you let me finish before you interrupt?" she replied gently, flipping off the SUV, speeding ahead of her and several lanes of traffic. Meanwhile, Ed and Coco played "I Spy" with the passing cars. Mac vaguely recalled playing "Blue Rubber Punch Buggy" with Bloo, but he doubted they'd go for that. Besides, afterwards, they usually had extremely sore upper arms.

"What? Oh, sorry."

"We _figured _if he was going to do something, it'd be then, so I convinced everyone to get on the bus. Kip won't know what hit him," she replied confidently, ranting at yet another driver.

"I hope so, I really do," Mac murmured, hanging up.

* * *

Meanwhile, Bloo was trying every stall tactic known to man and several known to only imaginary friends. Mac had appeared back stage mere seconds before and the time drew nearer to sing "Unrequited Symphony". Fans clamored for it and his nerves sizzled and snapped. At least he hadn't eaten anything since he last retched. His stomach was a bundle of nerves all on its own.

Every reaction he pictured to his revamped version suggested Mac would immediately reject him and, in all likelihood, abandon him to Kip. Then again, one must bear in mind Bloo had a more inventive imagination than even his creator. He imagined Mac slapping him across the face and snapping at him that he wasn't gay. What was he _thinking_? He couldn't go on there and make an ass of himself.

His hands were so slick, he had difficulty holding the mike. Against his wishes, he'd started taking requests from the audience to delay the inevitable. Unfortunately, a great deal of them were shrieking for "Unrequited Symphony" and flinging things at him. He shuddered, extricating a particularly raunchy girl's pantyhose. Infuriated with their inability to stop Mac before, Kip had fired his guards. Therefore, there were only temporary, exceedingly disinterested cops bordering the stage. He felt about as safe as one girl's retainer, smacking him in the forehead.

"Unrequited Symphony! Unrequited Symphony!" the group demanded as a whole, stamping their feet and pounding their thighs. Mouth dry, Bloo realized he was outnumbered and out of tricks. Maybe if he could turn into his imaginary form…but he'd lost that ability years ago. At least, he thought he had. Maybe if he concentrated really hard…

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather hear 'Teenage Suicide'?" Bloo pleaded, almost dropping the mike. _Anything but that._

"Unrequited Symphony!"

_I might have won the battle, but I lost the war._

Insides squirming, he disappeared to the far right of the stage and pulled the curtains back to hold a whispered conversation with Mac. His hands trembled badly and he had to leave the mike on top of a speaker. (Though he'd the common sense to shut it off beforehand). Physically, he was in better shape than the last time he collapsed, but he felt just the same. He couldn't go on there and tell him everything. Not in front of the world.

"Mac…" he whispered, wishing he'd thought of a way to prolong the agony. No brilliant ideas assailed him at this moment and he bit his lip. So this was what trepidation, fretfulness, and agitation were about. He missed the apathy.

"Bloo! Are you okay? You look like you're going to pass out," he replied, ignoring the thundering in their ears. Again, he checked his temperature against his own, but before he could verify anything, Bloo grabbed his hand. Inside his, it was cool, dry, and essentially normal. He envied him.

"You gotta come with me," he replied, yanking him along. Mac stared, bemused. When they walked on stage, Bloo led him to a chair and grabbed the mike closest. He almost wished he _hadn't _slept for the past four nights or drank anything. Combined with his nerves, unconsciousness would be a breeze.

Shuddering deeply, shutting his eyes briefly, Bloo murmured sadly, "Without further adieu, here's 'Unrequited Symphony'."

* * *

In the beginning, Mac wondered why Bloo had insisted on putting him front and center. Then, he'd started singing that love song to no one and wheels, ones refusing to operate before, churned slowly. Actually, he'd understood this before, but hadn't wanted to believe it. Yet when he sang, pivoting to face Mac, apprehension and helplessness shone brightly. He'd only once seen that look before- when he'd left Bloo at Foster's the first night.

Quaking from head to foot, Bloo stroked Mac's face with the back of his hand. The ending was coming up soon and he'd a finale in mind, but the sheer notion of it scared him senseless. Thank goodness for emo boys, making things like this acceptable. Otherwise, who knew what the tabloids would say?

_The truth_, Bloo thought bitterly, launching into the refrain. Unbeknownst to the crowd, he'd concocted his own last verse. It followed immediately after and this too wound his stomach into an extra tight knot. Why couldn't time stretch before he did this? Better yet, have time stop so he didn't have to be here, singing a love song to his creator.

Swallowing hard, finally at the bridge, he launched into his new version. He wished Mac would stop _looking _at him and his heart would stop fluttering in his chest. Everything would be so much better if this were an empty love song like all the others. Then he could grab a girl from the audience and sing to her. It wouldn't have any special meaning to him and he'd be able to move on.

"I can't get these words out of my head

I'll sing them to you instead

My creator, I never thought I'd fall for you

You'll never love me back, I knew

"I know you'll never love me back, Mac…

That's why this is my unrequited symphony…"

Mac's eyes widened and he began to say something, perhaps a query, but Bloo silenced him with a bittersweet kiss. Bittersweet because he knew it would be the only one he shared with him and he knew having one taste would be worse than none at all. He'd be forever haunted by his slightly salty lips, chapped but smacking of sugar and sweet things. Running his tongue along his lips, he stopped at the tumultuous applause from every fangirl. In fact, they stood to give him an ovation.

Meanwhile, still sitting in his chair and staring at his creation, all Mac could think was, _what the hell just happened_?

* * *

**  
It's been reported by a few people (I finally received an e-mail from ahhelga about this) regarding responses to reviews in chapters. Well, until this site passes an official ruling, I'm going to continue. There's a rumor someone had their story taken down, but I can't verify it. Until I have some solid _proof _and not simple e-mails, I will not stop.**

**Moving on…**

**Rakal**- In retrospect, Mac isn't being dense. He just refuses to see the truth. There's a difference there. (thinks of Cardcaptor Sakura, where Tomoyo says to Syaroan, "Sakura-chan is extremely dense. If you do not say it directly to her, she will not get it.") Mac's heard the truth; he would rather believe Bloo loves him as a friend instead of something more.

We really did need the phone call, because it was the comic relief. Yes, Bloo also needed reminding that there _are _creatures that care about him very much and want his safe return. In the space of four years, Bloo forgot about them. Or, perhaps he thought they stopped loving him like he thought Mac did.

Since I'll address Herriman throwing Kip out in a later review, I won't say anything more about that.

Yes, unrequited love is cute and acutely painful. I have to get working on chapter ten, so I'll be addressing that too. (winks)

**MisterBlue**- Well, no, it can't. Kip can't legally adopt Bloo if Foster's refuses to give him clearance. They technically have guardianship if Mac terminates his rights or just because he's living there. I'm sort of making up laws here, so bear with me.

Kip hasn't legally adopted Bloo, from my standpoint. A legal adoption means the creator terminates his rights and Mac never did that. He's done what Bloo sang about in "Sweet Stench of Success"- "kidnapped me and won't let me go". I suppose if you called imaginary friends property and therefore, property of their creators, then he could _own _him until he cast him away. Even in that instance, Kip doesn't legally own Bloo.

Actually, Bloo knows nothing about the plan. Frankie wanted to speak to Bloo to address his suicidal wishes. (I love Frankie! Er, sorry) She was concerned (and, apparently, so was Mr. Herriman).

It's time for R.D. to step down and for Bloo to return. It's been a while.

**Alleycat-2006**- Well, thanks for your input. At least you're reading another story. Sorry, I haven't much else to say.

**A. Nonymous**- I'm fairly certain the threat will come into play next chapter, when Kip confronts Bloo about the kiss. (This is, of course, after Bloo spends three quarters of the next chapter running away from his creator.)

The ironic thing was like Frankie, the conversation had headed in a direction I wasn't prepared for. There was more humor than anything else, though it served its purpose. It was supposed to be a conversation about his thoughts and then she'd remind him they cared.

First of all, Kip would want Bloo's stuff so he could sell it. Before he became popular and all that. (Though I can't imagine there's much left at Foster's, other than a paddleball).

Like I said to Blue, no, he doesn't own Bloo. (Lol!) That's part of the reason Herriman threw him out. He doesn't want to give him the right to him.

I can tolerate raunchy stuff, but I haven't tried Avenue Q again. I'm still fixated on South Park, however, as anyone could tell you. (points to her MSN 'nickname'- "OMG, they killed Mac!" "You bastards!")

I've noticed, going back and looking at some of my older chapters (of other things). It's rather annoying, but this site likes eating things. I once had a review that was probably as long as this response, but when I hit submit, the window froze and I lost everything when I reloaded.

**kcbs**- At least _you _read the part with Bloo's song. After the last review, I was concerned some people were skimming that. It _is _rather important, at least, to me. At any rate, moving on…

At the time of the last chapter, he hadn't realized yet both because he spaced out and because he didn't want to accept it.

**That's it for now! Until we meet again…**


	10. Difference of Opinion

Disclaimer: Foster's is not mine and every second I waste saying this, I lose another second to watch Gravitation in. Gravitation!

Chapter Ten: Difference of Opinion

The instant the applause ceased and the fangirls stopped screaming, Bloo vanished. He couldn't take it anymore- Mac's piercing gaze, the clamors for a make out scene, everything and anything. His eyes blurred with tears and his breath caught in his throat. They thought this was a game. They thought he was just a cute emo boy. His hatred for them renewed itself.

Winding halls took him further and further from his love. He lost count of the turns, retreats, and sideways walks to avoid him. However, when he finished, he found himself in a far worse predicament than before. Through sheer dumb luck, he'd maneuvered himself to Kip's dressing room. The color drained swiftly from his face and he retreated only to bump into the real thing.

"_You_," Kip growled, snatching him by the arms to prevent him from escaping. Bloo struggled, and then realized he had nowhere else to go. It was either face Kip or face Mac. Neither option terribly appealed to him.

"What do you want?" Bloo retorted, tones clipped. Kip spun around and slammed him into the nearest wall. Bloo saw stars and when he pulled him away, blood decorated the wall. Swallowing hard, he wondered if maybe he should have let Mac seek him out after all. Nothing could be worse than this.

Digging his fingers into his upper arm until Bloo cried out, Kip leaned his face unpleasantly close to his hostage's. Saliva swirled in his mouth and he imagined spitting on him. From experience, though, he knew spitting would only result in further mistreatment. Submission usually led to his boredom. He liked torturing him, but only when he played along.

"You _brat_," he snarled, releasing an arm to slap him across the face. It was hard to tell whose eyes were more hateful.

Bloo trembled in suppressed fury. Memories of Frankie flashed through his mind and he snarled at Kip. They were coming here to help him; he didn't have to take this shit. The righteous fury he hadn't felt when Mac had his foot on Kip's chest a month ago surged and he punched him in the mouth. When Bloo pulled his hand back, blood decorated his knuckles and he felt savage pleasure.

_I **can **hurt you. You can bleed like me. You're not omnipotent, _he thought maliciously, watching him feel his lip and stare, stunned, at his charge. It had already begun to swell. Bloo yearned to whoop in triumph and then land a thousand more punches on his stupid, stupid face.

"…You _hit _me," Kip murmured, sounding like a petulant three year old who's had his toy abruptly stolen. Unable to contain himself, Bloo laughed and reared himself for another blow. He envisioned beating Kip to a bloody pulp and then punting him off the roof. Of course, in his mind, Kip flew through the air like a football and not a human body, but that was beside the point.

Unfortunately, the laughter jarred him back to the present and he pulled out a switchblade from his left pocket. A dull fluorescent light shone half heartedly on it and Bloo swallowed hard. He should have known Kip would fight dirty. He should have known he'd pay dearly for his blow. Even so, he didn't regret it.

"To kill you tonight or tomorrow…" Kip mused, tossing the blade from hand to hand. Bloo sincerely hoped he cut his palms and they bled all over the place. He stared determinedly at it, lip curling disdainfully, but the blade didn't obey his thoughts. It sailed smoothly back and forth.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped, temper getting the better of him. The blade landed in his right hand and he grinned at it as though weighing whether or not to slash his throat. There was a time when he would have wanted him to do it and goaded him into it. Then again, there was a time he thought no one cared about him and the only option was suicide. Somewhere in this labyrinth was Mac, his beloved creator, and on the road elsewhere were Frankie, Eduardo, Coco, and Wilt. The time had passed for self pity.

"I _knew _he wouldn't have the guts to do it," he continued as though Bloo hadn't spoken. He thrust it experimentally at him and he backed into the wall. A sick smile played across Kip's features and his stomach lurched. Curiosity over the apparently spineless human kept his trepidation at bay. _Who _wouldn't do it? Wouldn't do _what_, exactly?

"Your _creator_, of course. Or is he your lover? You're just goddamn lucky gay is in, because if it wasn't, that little act of yours would have ruined your career. But don't worry, I'll ensure your career, and by your career, I mean your legacy, will last you into death.

"Just because Mac chickened out of murdering you doesn't mean anything. I knew he would. I planned accordingly."

Dully, Bloo thought the world slipped out from under him. He'd thought Mac was going to murder him? At least he'd proven him wrong, but then again, he knew Mac would never hurt him like that. No, what disturbed him was Kip had actually set out a date for his murder and intended to carry it out. Though he'd been afraid of his power, yes, deep down, he hadn't thought he'd go through with it.

Then again, he'd also been holding on for Mac and his safety. If Kip killed Bloo, then there was nothing to stop him from killing Mac too. Bloo's suicide plan had been vague, but it had included saving Mac somehow. Right now, that plan evaded him, but now that he actually didn't _want _to die…

"Tomorrow, after 'Teenage Suicide', there will be a _real _death. Yours- you finally got what you wanted. Tell that to your lover…and tell him if he interferes, his body will lie atop yours. No, wait, let me rephrase that. I'm sick of his interference in your life. I'll kill him first."

Smirking at the pallor in Bloo's face, he punched him hard in the stomach for his earlier insolence and waltzed off. Bloo fell to his knees and stared unseeingly ahead. He had to tell someone, but who? Who on earth was going to help him when Mac was already in danger just for being here?

* * *

Thankfully, Kip's dressing room was unlocked. Bloo's eyes narrowed as they slid over piles of cash, another switchblade, and a handgun. An image of him shooting Mac halted him temporarily and he faltered, puzzling whether he'd be able to get away with stealing it. Then again, if he _did_, Kip would automatically assume it was him and search his room. There was no way he could get away with it.

In the middle of papers, contracts, and a rejected adoption notice from Foster's, Bloo spied his cell phone. A cell phone- he could contact Frankie! Of course, he'd have to be certain to delete her number immediately afterwards, but by the time he figured out he'd snuck a call, with any luck he'd be far away. At least, he hoped he would be. Otherwise, he'd be royally screwed and six feet under.

Straining his brain, he shoved aside meaningless lyrics and Kip's threats to struggle for her number. After scribbling a few numbers he knew couldn't be right, he finally stumbled upon one that looked about it. If he was wrong, then he'd be right where he started. He had nothing to lose.

Crossing his fingers in his left hand, he dialed with his right and waited. One ring, then two, but, just as he was starting to wonder if her voice mail would respond, she piped up, sounding slightly annoyed. He released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and scrambled to put together what had just happened into reason, because his brain hadn't quite registered it. It was still rather dreary with shock.

"Hello?" Frankie half asked, half snapped. Though he knew the situation was dire, he couldn't help but smile. He was so grateful to hear her voice; he'd almost forgotten why he'd spent the better part of two years avoiding her and Foster's.

"Frankie, we have a problem," Bloo replied, glancing urgently towards the door. In any second, Kip might burst in and discover him. Snakes curled and uncurled in the pit of his stomach. Why hadn't he attacked him when he was down? Better yet, why hadn't he just said no to fame, fortune, and everything that went along with it? The instant he thought that, he shook his head. He knew he'd never have done that, because the old him was so attracted to it. Now, unfortunately, he knew a lot better.

"I know…Kip's going to try to kill you tomorrow, but we won't let him get away with it if we can help it," Frankie replied smugly, pounding on a door. Bloo blinked, trying to place the sound. Metal…but the only metal he knew that had that sound was outside the studio. She couldn't be here, could she? Was that what Mac was talking about?

"He's going to try to kill Mac too-" he halted, mentally backtracking. "Wait, what? How do you know that?"

"He's going to try to kill _Mac_?" Frankie exploded and Coco shrieked in the background. Cautiously, glancing both ways, he crept to the back door. Pounding ensued and it echoed on his phone. Either Frankie was behind that door or he was a moron.

Yanking it open charily, he came face to face with Frankie for the first time in four years. Ten seconds passed while they stared at each other and then Bloo launched himself at her. Eduardo had to grab her to keep her from falling backwards onto the pavement. In seconds, the four imaginary friends were hugging each other tightly and Frankie wound up in the middle.

"You es all right!" Eduardo cheered, accidentally cuffing Bloo in the head. Bloo winced, but not only because it hurt. Wilt was now peering down to see the matted blood. He frowned and glanced at Frankie, who frowned as well. They separated, Ed still clutching him tightly.

Frankie scrutinized him and saw everything Mac had nearly a month ago. Bags under his eyes that wouldn't fade away, gaunt face and figure, and when he smiled again to alleviate their stress, his smile ended before it reached his eyes. She sighed and hugged him again.

"I'm happy to see you, Bloo, but we have worse troubles. Where's your dressing room?"

Sighing himself, he led them there.

* * *

When he arrived, Mac was already sitting on his chair. The two snakes returned and he retreated, only to walk into Frankie. Gently but sternly, she led him to his cot and the rest settled themselves around either Mac or him. Now that he was in the same room, he couldn't even meet his eyes. He found himself counting tiles on the floor.

"Mac, Kip's planning to-" Frankie began, but Mac cut her off. He'd spent the past hour searching in vain for his imaginary friend only to have him arrive with the rest. He didn't care if it was in front of everyone- he wanted answers. Besides, he'd kissed him in front of thousands.

"Bloo, _why _did you kiss me in front of all those people? If you really are in love with me, why couldn't you have-"

Frankie, Ed, Wilt, and Coco gasped. A sly grin crept across the females' faces, but the males remained stunned into disbelief. All watched, entranced. What _had _happened in their absence?

"Are you dense or do you just refuse to believe it?" Bloo snapped, rising to his feet. "I _am _in love with you and I _knew _you'd never let me touch you like that unless it was at a concert! Otherwise, you'd just shove me away. I know I don't have a chance with you, I know I'm wasting my time, and I know you wish I hadn't written that song, because I do too! I wish I'd never opened my big fat mouth! You're just going to hate me-"

Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could control them. Everyone else in the room faded away into the background. He'd forgotten about Kip and his threats or anyone else. All he felt were the words bursting to free themselves. Every word was like a weight ripped away.

"I never _said _I hated you, did I?" Mac snapped, ignoring Frankie tugging on his sleeve, Wilt's clearing his throat and telling him to stop, Ed's whimpers, and Coco's trills. "If I hated you, then why would I be here?"

"You hate me now because I said I'm in love with you to thousands of screaming fans! You hate me because I kissed you! You hate me because I threw you away when I wanted to be famous!" Bloo retorted, frustration mounting. Angry tears burned the insides of his eyelids. When he glanced in the mirror, he saw the color had rushed to his face and his hands trembled on the bottom of his desk drawer.

"I _don't _hate you, Bloo," Mac said softly, stepping behind him and placing his hand over his shaking one. "I don't like what you did, but I think you learned your lesson years ago. Stop telling me why I should hate you."

Bloo spun around and finally looked his creator in the eye. The hand Mac held tingled pleasantly. Giddiness stole over him, but he subdued it immediately when Mac released him. Misery glistened in his eyes.

"But you don't love me like that." It wasn't a question but a statement.

"I…I don't know how I feel. I feel like someone dumped a ton of bricks on my head," he answered ruefully, shrugging apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Frankie rose and cleared her throat. Immersed in their conversation, they both blinked, suddenly remembering they weren't the only two people in the room. Evidently, she surmised as much because she offered Bloo a sympathetic smile. However, the smile vanished quickly.

"I think we've got worse troubles."

* * *

**Since I only got two reviews as the moment I'm typing this and I'm feeling terribly lazy tonight, I'm not responding. I would like to thank Rakal and Blue for reading and reviewing, although they read the last chapter before it came up. (Another reason I'm not responding, they already know what I have to say).**

** Until we meet again...  
**


	11. Final Curtain Call

Disclaimer: Not mine for the last time in this story.

Chapter Eleven: Final Curtain Call

Kip ran over the night's schedule and relished Bloo's pallor when he mentioned "Teenage Suicide". Mac sat stoically beside him and only twitched at the name. The producer had to restrain himself from laughing insanely at his charge's face. Finally, he'd have everything he always dreamed of; money, money, and more money, plus no brat to protect.

Bloo's hand brushed Mac's and his creator blushed slightly but swiftly moved his hand away. Heart pounding in his ears, he curbed his disappointment and glanced outside, beyond the velvet curtains. He'd only have to worry about Mac's feelings if this plan worked. If it didn't, he didn't have to worry about anything at all.

Meanwhile, backstage, Coco laid dozens of eggs full of knock out gas and eliminated all guards both behind and in front of the stage. Once the gas dissipated, the four snatched their uniforms (excepting Wilt, who couldn't find a single one that fit and finally had to settle for a cap). Anxious but pleased the first part of their plan had gone off without a hitch; they waited for the show to start. Unfortunately, they hadn't worked out a way to rescue Bloo before "Teenage Suicide", but at least they outnumbered Kip six to one. He had probably only planned on Mac's objection, not all of them. And, if worst came worst, they'd stolen Kip's real gun and replaced it with one that went "bang" with a cheap flag.

Frankie crossed her fingers and glanced over her shoulder. They'd be safe- unless either Kip had checked his gun or the guards escaped their locked confinement. They really couldn't afford any mishaps…Bloo's and Mac's lives depended on it.

**…**

Grinning broadly, he pulled Bloo aside for one last "pep" talk. Behind his customary sunglasses, his azure eyes flashed defiance and blind hatred. Little did he suspect the night carried more surprises. Bloo had no intention of singing "Teenage Suicide" or any other song from his repertoire. It might skew the rest's plans, but he preferred this method. He'd been dying for years to tell him exactly what he thought of him. If he couldn't beat him to death, he'd beat him at his own game.

"I'll finally be rid of you," Kip snarled and Bloo refrained from smirking narrowly. Oh, how sweet revenge would be. The words danced around in his mind and settled into their familiar patterns. His new song wouldn't be a hit, but he didn't care. He didn't care it didn't have a refrain or any notable tune currently. It was just a cover.

"No longer will I have to suffer with feeding you and letting you sleep and-"

Bloo began to tune him out, though the smirk crossed his face finally. If he added 'changing your diaper', he'd laugh outright. The way Kip was bitching, he was raising a baby instead of a celebrity. _You'd think I was asking for the moon, yeesh._

If Kip noticed, he gave no response at all. Instead, pacing wildly, he lunged at the food table and proceeded to stuff his face. Bloo gazed longingly at the donuts, and then reminded himself steely what happened when he ate before a show. He had no intention of projectile vomiting again, so he'd just glare. Besides, he could eat all he wanted upon his return to Foster's. That was…if he lived that long.

Though he had a great deal of confidence in Mac, Frankie, and the others, he couldn't help doubt them slightly. What if the gun had been switched again? What if the guards hadn't been locked up properly? What if he was suddenly attacked by a bout of nerves and fainted, leaving him an easy target?

"Are you _listening _to me or are you imagining your creator making out with you?" he sneered, yanking him up by the collar. Bloo karate chopped his arms and landed neatly on the floor. Brushing his collar off, he muttered one last thing before turning towards the stage.

"It's a good thing you're going to jail soon or I might just kick your ass now."

**…**

Finishing a sugary sweet love song about absolutely no one, he launched into "Unrequited Symphony" and felt Mac's eyes on him. Sure, there were a thousand others there, but he only felt his. They seared into him and by rout, he continued the song. He stood near the stage; Frankie placed a hand on his shoulder and they both smiled at him. The heat rose in Bloo's cheeks.

"How are we doing tonight?" Bloo called and the crowd screamed obligingly. Whipping the microphone wire around, he paced cutely and then stopped, smirking. In the beginning, he'd hammed it up. This was his last concert and if he weren't worried to death about everything else, he might be tempted to do it again.

He listened to them shriek before asking a few more typical questions. Smiling good-naturedly, he plopped down on the edge and swung his legs over the side. He might as well oblige the crowd one last time. After all, after this, he planned to spend a day sleeping (if not a week) and then the rest of his time eating, playing video games, and trying to win Mac over. At the thought, his stomach flopped.

Someone (an idiot, but a fan nonetheless) requested "Unrequited Symphony". Others soon followed suit and he proceeded to sing it again, glancing towards Mac. The chestnut haired boy smiled weakly back and gave him the thumbs up. Anxious again, his voice wavered minutely. He wished he could kiss him again…

"If I may sing a never before heard song-" he started, but the crowd drowned him out. Kip's scorn rained freely on his back and he smirked again. _This _was his final curtain call and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

**…**

"'Never been heard song'?" Frankie murmured, frowning. "I thought he was supposed to sing 'Teenage Suicide'?"

"I sure hope he knows what he's doing," Mac muttered, glancing upwards. During "Unrequited Symphony", he'd had to search through his bag to hide his scarlet face. He recalled Bloo's kiss in startlingly clarity and had suddenly, unexplainably wished he were on stage again. Though he constantly assured himself it was thanks to the unexpectedness of the kiss, he longed to relive it. He'd extend it and…

Frankie nudged Mac in the ribs and, returning to reality, he blinked. Bloo was skating on extremely thin ice. Like before, he hoped he knew what he was doing, because otherwise, he was going to get himself killed.

**…**

"When I look into your eyes

All I see are the lies

You promised me fame and fortune

What a naïve sucker, you'd croon

"I shoulda known it was too good to be true

And now I'm saying goodbye to you

"You didn't think I'd get this smart

Lying for you has become an art

You hire people to protect yourself

All you care about is you and your wealth

"You didn't care what I wanted

Or whose memories haunted

You used and abused me

And now, dear Kip, you're history

"You thought I'd put up with your shit?

I tried to contact Mac, you threw a fit

You beat me down physically

And threatened me emotionally

"I'm sick of you and your abuse

I've heard of greed, but you have no excuse

I'll never forget the foodless days

Or you and your conniving ways

"I won't sing 'Teenage Suicide' now or ever

Fame may be fleeting, but cruelness lasts forever

I'm sick of your shit

I _quit_."

Perhaps the first time in rock history- a crowd fell utterly silent. Many didn't know what to make of it. Bloo trembled in rage before turning to his producer, thunderstruck and stepping unconsciously onstage. The plan, everything else, faded from his memory. He wanted to pummel him…he wanted to make him _ache_…

"You _bastard_," Bloo spat, still in mike. He stepped closer to his adversary, still stunned. An animalistic growl ripped from Bloo's throat and he pictured him bleeding from every orifice. Distantly, as though from another town, he heard Mac scream "No!" and Frankie call his name. He ignored them both.

"Aren't you glad I didn't sing 'Teenage Suicide'? Look at them. They'd see you murder me in cold blood and my creator. That's right, folks, my _creator_. I'm not human. I'm an _imaginary friend_ and I've spent the last four years terrified my asshole producer would kill my creator.

"He beat me every day and starved me until I collapsed. He wouldn't let me sleep and planned months of concerts on top of each other. I told him I wanted to commit suicide and he was worried it would affect the sales. He doesn't and has never given a shit about me."

Fury quaked Kip and he pulled out his gun; he fully intended to silence him once and for all for revealing him. Mac, without thinking, jumped up on stage and stood in front of him with his arms outstretched. He offered no explanation but his body language communicated himself beyond doubt. He would protect his imaginary friend with his life if necessary.

"(That's the-)" Coco started, but when Kip fired, she stopped dead.

The crowd stared, disbelieving, at the "bang" poster ere Kip flung it at a random fan. It struck her in the head and she fell backwards into her friend. He then launched himself at Bloo and struck wherever he could reach. Bloo, ecstatic he could finally legitimately beat the shit out of Kip, attacked savagely.

"(Call the cops!)" Coco called, but Mac, still on stage and blinking, sprung forth to separate the two. Frankie followed suit.

Kip pummeled Bloo in the face, but Bloo kneed him hard in the groin. In too much pain to attack, Kip stared as Bloo punched, kicked, yanked, and ripped into him. One fully expected him to look up at Mac with fangs dripping in blood.

"Bloo, stop!" Mac cried, grabbing his imaginary friend and tugging him away by his elbows. Bloo struggled madly, kicking and striking out at even his beloved creator, but Mac's kiss on his cheek froze him completely.

Frankie scowled at Kip and opened her mouth to tell him off, but Eduardo, cowering in fear of Bloo, pointed a trembling paw. Blood trickled down his broken nose, his eyes were swollen shut, and everything else was badly bruised. If Mac hadn't pulled him off when he had, there was a distinct possibility that in a few minutes, he might have killed him. All shuddered and Mac unconsciously wrapped his arms tighter around Bloo. He was all that stood between him and the brink of insanity.

Staring at the two uncertainly and Kip's form, Frankie murmured, "So…who's coming home with me?"

**…**

It'd been two weeks since the 'incident' as everyone called it and at long last, Bloo was all caught up on sleep and food. Mr. Herriman was heard complaining that he never knew rock stars could eat a foster home out completely. Even so, he never said an unpleasant word about his return. In fact, though it irked him when he occasionally forgot old rules, he never erupted at him quite as badly as he did everyone else.

Kip was arrested two hours after the concert. Though he pleaded innocence, no one believed him. On his trial, he was assailed by rotten vegetables and the occasional R.D. doll. He was convicted on two accounts of attempted murder, child abuse (Bloo, in his human form, technically counted as a child), child neglect, and mistreatment of animals (for when Bloo was Deo in his blob form). Let's just say the guys in prison didn't take too kindly to him, either...

Mac had graciously given him some time to himself for a while to sort out any other business. Despite stopping by Foster's everyday at three like he always did, he avoided Bloo. He'd waited until he figured out his feelings before confronting him. Besides, Bloo'd had a difficult four years.

He found him outside staring at the unicorns. Soundlessly, he placed a hand on his shoulder and he half turned in his direction. Bloo opened his mouth to speak, but Mac shut it for him. Smiling sweetly, he wrapped his arms around him and kissed his cheek.

"I love you too, Bloo…and the symphony's not 'unrequited'."

Running his fingers through his hair, they made sweet music, no longer nowhere, but everywhere.

_Fin_

**…**

**The last set of replies to reviews…sad, isn't it?**

**And happy birthday, Rakal! Heh.**

**I thought I'd thank everyone for reviewing- Rakal, Ryu, kcbs (and _yes_, Bloo has a human form like he does in Sunrise, Sunset- I stated it in the first chapter when I called him "humanoid" or human-like), Alleycat-2006, MisterBlue, and lucyrocks73. Thanks for liking my lyrics, everyone, and please read Sunrise, Sunset or Stranded. Thanks.**

**Until we meet again…**


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